


Everything

by hdarchive



Series: What I Need [19]
Category: Glee
Genre: BadBoy!Blaine, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7399423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hdarchive/pseuds/hdarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's what trying really means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. So this was an absolute headache to finish. I can safely say this was the hardest thing I've ever written. The longer I took, the more the meaning changed, so I had to continuously rewrite every single scene at least three times to get it right. I have this fear that nobody cares anymore, but I guess not finishing and not posting would defeat the point of this entire story. I'm so sorry for taking so long, and I am so, so sorry for the word count. I really hate endings, and I just didn't want to get there.
> 
> I definitely stole parts from my own travel journal/my NYC experience to write this. Also, it wouldn't be an ending if I didn't rec some songs that got me motivated: [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qB6XdAkkAo) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ArGdLkpDGCQ).

“What?”

He’s talking without realizing it, saying whatever word he’s able to make in his brain and send to his mouth. He thinks he says it a few more times, all he can say, no other word has meaning no other word works it’s just a constant loop of what what what what -

_Why?_

His mouth is stuck open, throat and tongue dry but his eyes suddenly wet, burning, but he can’t bring himself to blink.

“What - what do you mean?” he tries again, clearing his throat.

Kurt takes a deep breath, and oh god Blaine can hear the pain in that one breath, like he really doesn’t want to take it.

_“I - I didn’t get in,”_ Kurt says, and it still doesn’t make sense. _“We um, we just opened our letters.”_

He finally squeezes his eyes shut, so tight maybe he’ll get knocked into an endless sleep, won’t have to wake up to this reality because how on earth is this reality? “Kurt, I -”

_“Rachel got in.”_ Kurt’s voice has been shred down into a whisper, nothing but a few words and no hope. _“We’re all really happy for her.”_

“What?”

He shouts it. He opens his eyes and doesn’t see reality he just sees red with black edges and he can’t help it _what?_

_“Blaine, it’s -”_ Kurt cuts himself off with another sharp inhale, and Blaine clutches the phone too tight and thinks don’t say it’s fine don’t say it’s fine don’t you dare minimize this into _fine_. _“I’ll be honest . . . I don’t even know what to think right now.”_

“Kurt -”

Kurt what? How is he supposed to help when everything Kurt needs has just been taken away, and Blaine is the most helpless, useless person in the world with no way to get it back for him?

_“Finn didn’t get into his school either, so I’m not about to throw myself a pity party.”_

“Where are you? I need -” He tears at his hair, pulls it hard to make himself feel something other than whatever this is, but nothing comes. “I need to see you.”

I have to help somehow I have to do something I -

Kurt’s the strong one here, the one with the ability to hold Blaine’s world together. But what about his?

Kurt laughs, and it’s the scariest thing Blaine has ever heard because there’s nothing happy or humorous about it. _“Blaine, don’t,”_ he says so quietly, as if he’s trying to make the words not exist. _“I’m just - I’m going to go home I think.”_

He closes his eyes again, licks over his lips and struggles and fights and tries for words.

He knows what Kurt sounds like when he’s hurt or sad or angry, and he knows what Kurt sounds like when he’s all of those things but he’s trying hard not to be.

“Kurt.”

He feels so useless.

An expert in dealing with his own broken dreams, but Kurt’s were never supposed to break, it was never supposed to go this way.

_“I’ll - I’ll talk to you later?”_

“Kurt -”

The call ends, nothing but silence, and Blaine wants to call back and say _I love you_ just so those are the last words Kurt hears today but he knows those words can’t change anything.

All he can say, and it means nothing.

-

There’s something horribly wrong about this, about going to the train station to see Rachel off.

There’s something horribly wrong about this because nobody else sees just how horribly wrong it is. Nobody looks unsettled, put off, or as confused as Blaine feels.

Everyone looks happy.

Kurt included.

And maybe that’s why Blaine feel so unsettled and put off and confused and horribly, horribly wrong about this.

Kurt doesn’t seem bothered at all.

Like this is just how it’s supposed to go.

He told him earlier this morning that they didn’t have to go, that nobody would judge him if he didn’t, and _that_ made Kurt mad, that’s what set Kurt off. _Of course I’m going, Blaine, she’s my best friend!_

So he put aside his resentment, and he waved and smiled at Rachel as the train left and he was happy for her in a way, because he’s not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but it’s just -

That should be Kurt, too. Why isn’t that Kurt? How on earth is that _not_ Kurt?

Why is this bothering him more than it is Kurt?

For the first time in a long time, he can’t read him, can’t see past his smile, can’t tell if it’s fake or genuine or what he means by it. It’s scary. It’s like nothing ever happened.

It’s scary because something definitely did happen.

A majority of the club go out to coffee after, and Kurt tugs Blaine along, telling him that this could be one of the last moments they have with everyone, as if Blaine actually cares about that.

Maybe he should care, but he can’t find it in himself right now to try.

Kurt orders for them, and Blaine pays, movements mechanical, practiced, just trying to get through this day. He doesn’t really notice anything, doesn’t even pretend to listen to the numerous conversations going on, only paying attention when Kurt talks, when Kurt lightly jabs an elbow into his side to remind him every now and then to say something.

He especially pays attention when Mercedes turns to Kurt and asks, “So what are you gonna do with your summer now, Kurt?”

It’s a casual question, said so easily, so simply that it stuns Blaine for a second because it shouldn’t be a casual question. A broken dream is not something to brush off like it’s nothing when it’s everything.

What stuns him even more is Kurt’s brief second of laughter before he takes a sip of his coffee, shrugs one shoulder and says, “Spend my time at the mall, most likely. I need to show off my outfits somehow.”

They all laugh, like it’s a joke, and then quickly move on.

Blaine’s about to yell, about to slam his hand down on the table and order the world to stop because _no_ , when Kurt finds his hand and squeezes it.

Hard.

Blaine looks down, only confused for a moment, and then he gets it.

He never looks up at the group, eyes focused on Kurt’s hand over his, fingers grabbing his desperately, and Blaine doesn’t need to be told twice, this is Kurt needing him and he could never ignore that.

“I think we’re gonna head out,” he says to whoever’s listening, not looking up. “See you guys later.”

Kurt’s the strongest person Blaine’s ever met, smiling brightly and waving at everyone as they leave, even though the way he’s holding Blaine’s hand tells him he’s breaking.

Back in the car, doors closed, locked up in temporary safety, Kurt tilts his head back and finally sounds weak, whispering out, “Thank you.”

He reaches for Kurt’s hand again, rubs over the back of it with his thumb, just lets Kurt breathe for a bit before he asks, “You alright?”

Kurt nods, smile wobbling until it fades out. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Be honest with me.

You can be honest with me.

“Yeah.” Kurt inhales, exhales, turns his hand over to thread his fingers through Blaine’s. “I just - she asked and I - I couldn’t give her an answer.”

This is as close as they’ve gotten to talking about it, about what’s going to happen and what they’re going to do. He’s scared.

He’s not sure what to say, what would be helpful, how to give Kurt what he needs.

“You don’t need to.”

“I don’t _have_ an answer, Blaine.”

He tightens his grip on Kurt’s hand and says, too fiercely, “You don’t _need_ one. Screw them, Kurt, you don’t need one.”

Kurt laughs quietly to himself, then reaches for his bag, pulling it onto his lap and carefully opening it up.

“It’s fine.” Kurt takes a shaky breath, then holds out a paper, hand trembling the slightest bit. “I picked this up while we were in there.”

“Is that -” Blaine feels something catch in his throat, has to look away. “Is that a job application?”

Kurt takes the paper back, tucks it into his bag just as carefully as he had removed it. “I know it’s a long shot, but it’s not like I have much else to do right now.”

There’s something to his voice that Blaine hasn’t heard much of, not for a while, a dismissive tone, like Kurt’s shutting himself down.

A hopeless tone, implying that he’s not good enough, and god doesn’t Blaine know the feeling.

Hasn’t he been living it all his life?

He stares at Kurt’s face, the way no emotion settles across it, sealed back up and pushed down.

No. No. You are not staying here you’re crazy no -

“Yeah, um,” he mumbles, has to force the words out, lying to himself and lying to Kurt. “That’s a good idea.”

He wants to take the application and rip it up, tell Kurt _no_.

But he can’t make himself say it. There are a lot of words he’s incapable of saying apparently.

He was as ready as he could be to let go, to make it be over, to end this because he wouldn’t let his ending be Kurt’s. And now . . .

Such a bad fucking person, he is and always will be, because instead of saying what he truly believes ( _you’re worth so much more_ ), he says, “They’d be crazy not to hire you.”

Kurt’s smile is strained, and he says like he doesn’t believe in himself, “We’ll see.”

-

He sits at the kitchen table at Kurt’s house, chin propped up on his hands as he watches Kurt carefully fill in the blank spaces of his application. He stays quiet, by choice, but also because it’s still just - awkward, and he’s afraid of making it worse.

He should have known it was gonna be awkward, all of Kurt’s family sitting around a little table trying to live life like it hasn’t been entirely shaken up, eating brunch like it’s just another Sunday morning.

It’s like nobody knows what to say to Kurt now. Nobody talks about it. Everything is fine and normal and perfect and nobody dares to mention the fact that it isn’t. He figures Kurt must have said something to them, told them to stop caring, because Blaine likes to think he knows Burt and Burt wouldn’t just settle for this unless Kurt begged him to.

He watches Kurt fill in the blanks to questions he shouldn’t be answering, looking for any sign that he’s still there, that Kurt’s still him, that this isn’t permanent. He’ll wait. He’s seen every part of Kurt, he knows how to wait.

“Can you use your own father as a reference?” Kurt asks, tapping the tip of his pen against his lips. “I worked for him at the shop . . .”

Blaine shrugs, bends his head down to sip at his drink through his straw. “I guess.”

After a few seconds of thinking, staring at the paper, Kurt sighs and drops the pen to the table, irritated and frantic as he says, “Who was I kidding, how am I supposed to do this?”

The doubt kills him, heavy and wrong and he wants to erase it from Kurt’s words but he doesn’t know how, so he reaches across the table and puts his hand over his, feels the tension in his curled up fist and squeezes it.

“Kurt, stop.” It kills him because Kurt really is everything. It kills him that one other person’s opinion has stopped him from believing that. It kills him that he’s the one who loves Kurt the most and he can’t help him. “This town is full of assheads _and_ idiots. Your application is gonna kick all their asses.”

Kurt’s hand tenses underneath his again, and then he slowly exhales, doesn’t look up to meet Blaine’s eyes. “You say that, but when I don’t get called for an interview I’ll feel even more pathetic.”

“You will.” He doesn’t actually know that, he just believes it.

Kurt pulls his hand away and picks up the pen again, and Blaine isn’t sure if anything he just said got through to him.

“If I do get this job, it’ll be a lot less time with you,” Kurt says eventually, voice barely above a whisper. “Have you thought more about summer school?”

It’s weird how fast things can change. Just a few weeks ago they had a plan together, they were going to leave together, and now neither know what they’re doing, both ignoring the fact that they’re sinking and they’re sinking _fast_.

They had this plan to leave and then he blinked and now they’re discussing summer school and job applications and staying staying staying -

He thinks it’s weird that they’re sinking and lost but they both know what they both really want.

“Uh, yeah, my mom signed me up,” he mumbles, fiddling with his straw. “I don’t get to graduate any sooner though, so, uh, I don’t know. It’s just to catch up on a few credits so there’s less to do next year.”

Kurt drops his focus on his application, eyes now entirely on Blaine, his smile weak at the corners.

“It’s still a good idea.”

“Is it?” He laughs, feels his hand twitch on the tabletop. “Like - what’s the point?”

Neither move, they just stare at each other, and he’s never seen Kurt look so hopeless before. For a moment Blaine’s mind goes blank, because Kurt’s eyes have always been his compass and now he doesn’t know where to go.

“It _is_ a good idea, Blaine,” Kurt says, and every day that goes by Blaine recognizes Kurt less and less so he can’t tell if the certainty in his voice is real or not. “Didn’t you want a chance to try again?”

He lets out another laugh, _what a joke_ , and slumps back in his chair, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, well that was before I remembered I fuck up every single one.”

I ruin every chance I get. How do you not see that yet?

Kurt laughs too, and it’s either defensive or offended, Blaine can’t tell.

“Then you’re not going to go anywhere, Blaine, if you sit here and give up.”

His urge and instinct then is to scream, to shout, to pull at his hair and slam his hands down on the table or hold up a mirror and show Kurt, tell Kurt, _that’s exactly what you’re doing stop it._

Instead he makes a frustrated noise, runs a hand through his hair and tries to think of something to say, something that’ll get his point across without hurting Kurt, without yelling because Carole is out in the yard and could hear him.

He lowers his voice, eases his breath out, and mutters, “You’re one to talk.”

Kurt freezes, mouth open and eyes wide. It takes a few long seconds before he moves, pulling his entire body back like Blaine burned him and he's just now realizing.

“Our - our situations are entirely different,” Kurt stammers, slowly, quietly. “I don’t want to talk about this. You’ll go to summer school, and I - I’ll work.”

He grits his teeth together, works his jaw side to side, head throbbing from the sudden shot of anger he just felt, waiting for it to fade out.

“Fine.” He doesn’t meet Kurt’s eyes, can’t handle the disappointment and hurt he knows is there. “I’ll give it a shot.”

-

Well this is a good thing.

This is exactly what he wanted, right?

For the world to stop, for another chance, for a moment to _catch up._

This is it. This is that moment. Kurt has stopped.

Kurt isn’t going anywhere.

This is what he wanted, in some sort of sick, twisted sense. To be on his level, to be hand in hand, to stay together.

Not like this, but this is all they have.

His life has kinda always been full of drifting. Pretending he has a plan, but really it’s just the waves, the sea, choosing which way he goes and what he needs to be. Laying back and letting it happen, because even if he tried to swim away he’d just get lost.

He’s only ever felt direction when Kurt put his hand in his and said _this way._

Now they’re both drifting.

No . . . because even when you’re drifting you’re going somewhere.

It’s sinking. Being pulled down, down, down, reaching your hand up for help only to realize how far down you actually are, and that nobody is going to save you down here. Nobody cares.

He’s being selfish by holding onto Kurt. He wanted to be on his level and this is it, even though this is wrong.

He wants to hold onto his hand and keep him down here so he’s not alone, so Kurt’s not alone, but . . . just because it could make him feel better, doesn’t mean it’s the right thing to do.

Kurt has to go up. Blaine tells himself he’s only holding on now to make sure he does, and then he’ll let go, then he’ll let himself sink.

Except he expects Kurt to fight for the surface, for a chance to breathe, because that’s how Kurt works, that’s what Kurt is.

He doesn’t.

He holds Blaine’s hand down in the dark and he never looks up.

Blaine can’t figure out how to make him.

-

Kurt gets the job. That’s no surprise.

Summer school fucking sucks. That’s no surprise either.

None of this feels right.

This is standing in the middle of the wrong street in the wrong town in the middle of the wrong world and knowing it’s not right, but having nowhere else to go, no clue to home.

He knows why he’s here though. He can think back to every step he took to get here, and he’s already thought through and listed and pinned every reason he deserves it to the inside of his brain so he can never, ever forget. He knows why he’s here.

It’s Kurt he’s confused about.

It’s Kurt he can’t do anything about.

When he calls Kurt after his first day of work to ask how it went, Kurt responds with, _“Great. I stood for eight hours straight and made nearly two dollars in tips.”_

Blaine responds to that with, “That doesn’t sound great to me.”

_“We also get to take home any leftover pastries, if we’re lucky.”_

“Still waiting for that ‘great’ part . . .”

Kurt laughs, the sound of it fading out the saddest part of this song, and then he sighs.

_“I think we have to adjust our definition of ‘great’, Blaine.”_

Kurt’s his definition of ‘great’, Kurt’s the meaning to every single good word. Kurt’s the reason Blaine even knows any of them.

Living is now like picking up your favourite book, one you’ve read a million times before, but now the meaning is different and you don’t understand it anymore. And Blaine wants to pick up a pen and scribble and cross out everything that’s been written, because this isn't how it's _supposed_ to go, but he doesn't know what to say.

He never knows what to say. None of the definitions make sense and he doesn’t understand and he never has and it wouldn’t matter anyway.

His words would never be enough.

This place isn’t New York. It doesn’t even matter that this place is Lima, Ohio. It could be anywhere in the world but it still wouldn’t be right, because this place is where Kurt is staying, where he’s settling, and that could never be anything other than wrong.

Blaine knows settling, any and every definition of it.

He thinks about it as he sits at a table in the corner of the Lima Bean after class, open textbook and binder in front of him so it at least looks like he’s doing something.

Settling is what nothings do. Not enough to keep going, not enough to reach out and reach up, not enough to hold on. Settling is what he’s done, settling is what his parents did, settling is what everyone in this town has been doing.

He looks around the coffee shop, a place he came to with Kurt when he was still learning what it was like to hold his hand, and how scared he was that somebody would see them and tell him he wasn’t good enough. Everyone here is a nothing, just like him, so he realizes now he was scared for the wrong reason.

It feels like he’s lost, in the wrong place, but really this is just Lima, Ohio. This is home. This town is just another town in a big world where people settle, regardless of where they want to go.

He looks at Kurt and for the first time, since - ever, he’s not dark but he’s not bright. He’s diminishing. He’s -

Settling.

And Blaine, the nothing that he is, can’t do anything about it.

Try to say something, say the wrong thing, ruin _everything_. . . that’s what Blaine does.

He keeps waiting for Kurt to show him a sign, show him he’s not settling forever. He waits for the sign that Kurt is ready to give up on giving up. He waits for Kurt to really, truly smile at him.

-

He goes to pick Kurt up from work, which has sort of become a routine, at first because it was convenient, and now because it settles and feels so - normal. He sometimes forgets that it shouldn’t, that it isn't.

He's immediately reminded when the door to his car is being swiftly opened and slammed closed, Kurt shoving his bag to the floor and sharply turning his entire body away from Blaine, remaining silent save for his carefully-timed inhales and exhales.

“Uh, hi?” Blaine says slowly, one eyebrow raising, his hand hesitantly creeping over the console until he’s touching Kurt’s arm.

Kurt locks up but doesn’t push him away, still not looking at him as he says, “Hello.”

“You okay?” He laughs, a bit nervously, and tugs more insistently at Kurt’s arm. “Bad day?”

Kurt laughs too, sharp and dark and dangerous, finally twisting himself around to face Blaine. “Try bad life,” he sighs, sounding more defeated than he has in - _in weeks_. “It’s - it’s fine. It’s over.”

“Kurt -”

Settling. Minimizing. Diminishing.

“Blaine, I’m serious,” Kurt says over him, pleadingly, taking Blaine’s hand and holding it tightly. “I’m being overdramatic. It’s the theatrics in me, you know I can't help it.”

Because he doesn’t know what to say, and because he’s a huge fucking _idiot_ , he smiles teasingly, swings Kurt’s hand and says, “Let me guess, no leftover muffins today?”

Kurt surprises him by smiling. Not the real kind, but the quiet kind, the tired and soft kind. He shuts his eyes and shakes his head slightly, says barely above a whisper, “No. It’s just - a bit more difficult than I thought.”

“What, making coffee?”

“Yes - it’s - it’s not that easy, Blaine. Steaming milk is a lot harder than it sounds, and there are so many recipes to memorize, and every time I forget, my boss makes me feel like gum underneath his shoe and - hearing myself speak just makes me realize how crazy I sound.”

Blaine stills. He has to repress the urge to take both of Kurt’s hands and pull him closer until there’s nowhere else for him to go, to kiss him and show him and tell him with all the words he doesn’t know that he’s perfect and he’s everything.

He has to repress it because he knows it would only mess things up, it wouldn’t fix or help.

Instead he mumbles, and instantly regrets it, “You’re not crazy. Maybe you’re just not meant to be steaming milk.”

Kurt laughs again, looks away from Blaine and lets go of his hand.

“Maybe I’m just not meant to be good at anything I want to do.”

-

This is what being bad really means; not being able to do anything good.

Not even once, not even a little, not even though he really, really wants to. He looks at Kurt and hears his voice and knows it should be louder, bolder, brighter, and that this town is too small for him, this town is containing him.

It hurts but he can’t show him, can’t make him go, can’t make himself good enough to help. If he tries he’ll fail and Kurt’s been the one thing he can’t break but he doesn’t trust himself, because he knows he’ll find a way.

A week or two into this, he knows this is more than just settling.

When you wake up and your first thought isn’t what life should be like, what it could be like, then you’re forgetting. You’re quitting.

It kills him.

He knows it’s killing Kurt.

Another day starts. He spends this one at the Lima Bean, doing his homework as he waits for Kurt’s shift to end, even though it’s all becoming a blur and soon it’ll be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow again.

Two hands land on his shoulders, making his whole body jolt, every muscle stiffening until he realizes who it is, could only ever be Kurt.

Could only ever be Kurt’s voice this close, loud but soft and high but low as he says, “Hi, handsome.”

If there’s one thing in this messy, backwards, blurry world that he’s okay with getting lost in right now, it’s Kurt, so he relaxes under his touch and tilts his head to his. “Hey.”

From the corner of his eye he can see Kurt looking down, taking in the mess of all his papers that swamp the table. “How’s school going?” he asks, squeezing at Blaine’s shoulders, as if encouragingly.

He can’t really focus though, mind stuck in the process of thinking, because Kurt sounds happy, or maybe even - real. He taps his pen against the edge of the table, shrugs and sighs, “It sucks ass. Like, every kind of ass. A variety of asses.”

Kurt hums. “Poetic.”

He twists around to look at Kurt over his shoulder, his expression shifting into a frown. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

Kurt looks down at him and _grins_.

Almost, almost real -

“The manager is out, so it’s a bit of a free-for-all right now,” he says excitedly, squeezing Blaine’s shoulders again. “Mind if I interrupt you for a minute?”

He waves his hand above the table in a flourish, says, “Interrupt away.” before kicking out the chair opposite him.

Kurt makes an excited squeal and promptly sits down, tucking his hands under his thighs, raising himself up straight and lifting his chin.

“I have exciting news.”

Hope sparks up in his blood, feels like fire ripping down a line of oil until it reaches his heart and explodes. He smiles, puts his hands up on the table and twists them together, almost afraid to find out.

“Cool. What?”

Kurt looks like he’s one millisecond from falling out of his seat as he puts one hand on the table too, closing his fingers over Blaine’s.

Then in one go, all on one breath, he says, “Mr. Schue said he’d like me to come back next year to help with the glee club. Alright, I asked, but he did say he’s expecting a large turnout this year and that my knowledge and expertise would make things easier for him.”

It’s -

Kurt’s smile has always been contagious, spreading onto Blaine’s face, but he can feel its falseness in his every muscle.

Well.

It’s not what he was expecting.

But Kurt looks so -

Happy.

“Oh,” he says, throat feeling thick as he swallows. “That’s . . . cool. If you really wanted to go back to that hell hole, I guess.”

Kurt’s face falls, and so does Blaine’s heart.

“It’s not going back . . .” Kurt trails off, slowly beginning to slide his hand away from Blaine’s. “It’ll be different. I’ll be - like a teacher.”

“Yeah, sure.” He so badly wants to say the right thing but he can only come up with the wrong thing.

This is the time to not be useless, to finally say something, to do something, to stop being selfish, because that’s not a dream, that’s a death wish.

Excitement vanished, his smile gone, Kurt looks like he’s never spent a single second of his life happy.

Blown out like a fucking candle.

“You don’t sound excited.”

He can’t do it.

Weak and bad and never, ever good, he grabs Kurt’s hand again to try and bring back his smile. “No - no, I am. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

That’s how useless he is.

He knows exactly what should be said, but not by him. Any word out of his mouth would just destroy, and he can't hurt Kurt anymore than he already has.

“So . . . will you join again? At least while I’m there?”

Staying silent is settling, but he can’t get himself to speak.

“Sure.” He gives Kurt a smile, as bright as he can make it, even though he has to fake it. “Yeah.”

Kurt smiles back, but it still doesn’t look real.

This is a lot more than settling. Agreeing to questions that shouldn’t be asked and walking down the completely wrong path when you know where you should be -

That’s surrender.

That’s dying.

He keeps his hand over Kurt’s, and he keeps saying nothing, because he doesn’t know the words yet.

He wonders if he ever will.

-

While it’s not _that_ unusual to get an occasional text from his brother, it is unusual for Cooper to want to Skype with him. He stared at his phone for a while, reading over the text (~ _How would YOU like to Skype with rising star Cooper Anderson for TEN beautiful minutes?~_ ), because maybe his brother meant to send it to somebody else.

But no, it was meant for him, so he gets comfortable on the floor, laptop balanced over his legs, adjusting the screen back so he can see better. It’s a few more minutes of waiting, until eventually the calling sound rings through the speakers, Cooper’s name coming up on the screen.

He waits for the connection to load and become less pixelated, hears the sounds of traffic in the background, hears Cooper humming above it, until finally his face comes into view.

“Hey Blainey!” Cooper shouts, squinting his eyes and leaning closer. “Did you find a way to get shorter?”

He makes a face, glaring at his brother through the webcam. “Shut up.”

Cooper grins. “How’re you doing, little brother?”

He actually has to think about it for a second. “Fine,” he says, smile twitching at the corners. “What about you?”

“Fantastic as always!” Cooper sings, drawing out every vowel. “I was mistaken for Henry Cavill on set yesterday, so I’m still feeling the emotional high.”

“That’s -” He blanks, both eyebrows raising up, trying to think of a response. “Uh, good for you I guess?”

Cooper’s grin fades as much as his grin _can_ fade. “Don’t let the jealousy get to you, Blaine, and turn that frown upside down. I heard you’re going to New York!”

There’s a name he hasn’t heard in awhile. Hearing it when he knows he’s not gonna get it feels like being stabbed, right out of nowhere and right where he’s already bleeding.

He pretends it doesn’t hurt and shrugs. “I was gonna.”

Cooper raises an eyebrow, his face almost beginning to sink into a frown. “Well what’s stopping you?”

He presses his lips together and thinks. Nobody talks about it so he doesn’t know what to say . . .

“Everything I guess.”

Cooper’s frown shifts into something sympathetic, but not quite a smile, his voice lowering as he asks,  “. . . is it dad?”

“No,” he scoffs, and has to cross his arms, has to lock himself up. “Not this time.”

Cooper’s expression changes quickly, dialed all the way back up. “So what else is there?”

He has to think again.

What else is there?

“Myself?”

Cooper stays silent for a second, nodding his head in what Blaine hopes is agreement.

“You’re always your own worst enemy . . .” he says slowly, then his eyes light up, and he grabs something, his phone, holding it up to the screen. “That was deep. I have to write it down.”

He groans, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, pure genius.” And _this_ is why he doesn’t like talking to his brother, because it always ends up like this, whatever this is. “Listen, if you just called to make me feel like shit I’m gonna go ahead and hang up now.”

Cooper keeps his eyes on his phone, raising a finger to halt him before continuing to type, saying every word out loud to himself.

Then he finally looks up, and something hardens in his expression, looking completely unrecognizable.

Cooper looks serious.

He never looks serious.

“No, wait,” Cooper says, something in his voice sounding almost apologetic. “You’re right, let’s get back to business.”

He can’t hold himself tight enough then, nervous and anxious in every single body part, his eyes unable to connect back to Cooper’s. He clears his throat roughly, trying to cover up the fact that he’s scared. “Better be worth it.”

The muscles in Cooper’s neck and jaw tense, like he’s forcibly making himself look up, his eyes darting in every direction around the screen before settling on Blaine. He clears his throat too, once, twice, adds a third one for dramatics, and then he grins.

“I, Cooper Anderson, would like to -” He stops short and looks away, and Blaine can’t tell if the pause is for dramatic effect too, or if he’s actually stumped. “Blaine . . . I need to apologize to you.”

His first reaction is to laugh, and to laugh _hard_. “What?” he yelps, face scrunching up in confusion. “For what?”

“Don’t laugh,” Cooper warns, projecting his voice louder. “This whole ‘apologizing’ thing is still a new concept to me, because I never do anything wrong.”

“Are you dying? Where is this coming from?” He’s still laughing, but it quickly dies in his throat when Cooper’s expression sharpens, when he sighs and runs a hand back through his hair, looking somewhere offscreen.

“Blaine . .”

Never in his life has he been this uncomfortable or clueless. He lets out another laugh, low, quiet, one of surrender, and nods at his brother. “Okay, let's hear it.”

“Alright. Little brother, I know this will come as a great shock to you, but I have to come clean.” Cooper sighs, claps both hands together and bows his head, says a few words under his breath before looking up again, locking his eyes intently on Blaine’s. “I forgot about your birthday.”

Oh. He almost laughs.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“. . . I may have forgotten that you even existed.”

“I’m used to that too.”

Looking genuinely stressed, Cooper shakes his head and says, “But you’re eighteen now, you’re a man.”

He shrugs, mutters, “Just a number. Whatever. It’s fine.”

“No - it’s not just a number, Blaine, not in our family, you know that.” Cooper holds his breath as he bites over his bottom lip, then says slowly, “I know that. I’ve been in your tiny, tiny shoes before, so I should have - I should have remembered.”

“Okay, maybe you should have, but it’s over, so don’t worry about it -”

He hates the sympathy in his voice, because if Cooper’s sorry for him then he knows he’s screwed.

He knows something’s wrong.

“I want to make it up to you.”

He’s never heard Cooper sound like this before, never seen him look this bothered. Cooper’s hardly ever looked weak in front of Blaine, he can only remember the one time, that one dinner, where Cooper looked like a kid instead of an adult and Blaine was forced to realize you _never_ fucking escape.

Too caught up in his thoughts, his response comes a bit delayed. “. . . wait, what?”

“I get residual checks from a commercial I did a few months ago. It’s not much, but when I was your age anything would have helped so - I want to send you some of it.”

Blaine’s frown snaps into place, a million questions filling his brain, and he doesn’t mean to do it but he does it anyways, cuts in and shouts, “Coop, what - I don’t need money _you_ need money -”

“I’m trying to do the right thing here, Blaine -”

“You’re trying to make yourself feel better, that’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“Stop being a brat and listen -”

He has to yell, has to make himself louder, feeling like a stupid little kid again screaming just to get Cooper’s attention. “I’m not taking your money if it means you have to beg mom and dad twice as much next month for more. Find another way to fluff your ego, ‘cause I’m not helping.”

It scares him when Cooper yells back, twice as loud, twice as frustrated, “Blaine, will you let me do this? I can’t - I can’t have you growing up and moving to New York thinking I don’t care -”

“But you _don’t_ care!”

“Somebody has to care!” The connection goes quiet suddenly, Cooper pushing himself back from the camera, once again looking somewhere offscreen and away from Blaine. “Maybe I didn’t show it before, but somebody has to. With your whole school thing happening, I know it must be hard, and I know it’s even harder to believe looking at me, because I got all the good genes, but I know what it’s like. So I care now, okay?”

It takes a few seconds to lower the noise in his mind, a few more seconds to register Cooper’s words, but then the seconds pass, and he believes him.

He really, really looks at his brother, really thinks about everything he’s seen so far. If there’s anybody out there who would maybe sort of get it, it would be Cooper, because he was raised in the exact same house with the exact same parents and -

Nobody was on Cooper’s side, that’s the whole reason he left.

Blaine gets that.

He really, really gets that.

“Cooper . . .”

“Take it. Save it. Or better yet, get yourself a much needed haircut.”

“My hair is fine -”

“Or get your boyfriend something nice, take him out to dinner. He is still your boyfriend, right?”

“Yeah, yeah . . . for some crazy reason.”

Cooper claps his hands and grins, like he's trying to eradicate the awkward, heavy tenseness between them. “There you go.”

He smiles, not sure what else to do or say. There’s gotta be something Cooper wants in return, some sort of ulterior motive, so he waits for it.

It never comes.

“Well, uh, thanks, Coop,” he says, hugging his arms closer to himself. “You don’t - you really don’t have to.”

Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Cooper smirks. “Let me be an awesome big brother for once.”

Blaine laughs and says, “Alright, alright.”

“No, I want to hear you say it. ‘Cooper Anderson, you’re the most awesome big brother in the world’!”

He shuts his eyes and grits out, “I’m not -”

“Come on, Blainey.”

He sighs, entire body drooping forward, and says dryly, “Cooper Anderson, you’re the most _awesome_ big brother in the world.”

Cooper starts to applaud, grinning wider at him. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He rolls his eyes again, head beginning to ache from how much he’s done that already.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Silence soon takes over the conversation again, settling over the connection, but now it feels like something deeper has been unlocked, picked at, and now he can’t stop thinking. Which he finds he’s been doing a little too much of lately, but he has to, digging for an answer in every space he can.

It’s scary, to sit here opposite Cooper and watch him smile like he means it, when he can’t possibly mean it.

Ever since he was little he tried to be enough, tried to be good, and failed every single time. If they were raised in the exact same house in the exact same shoes, then how is Cooper still - _trying?_

Somebody needs to care.

Nobody cared about Cooper.

You never fucking escape, he knows this, he’s had no choice but to learn this.

Sitting across from Cooper just confuses him, because sitting across from him is his brother, smiling, wide and loud and bright.

And if you never really escape, then how do you smile like that?

Blaine shifts from side to side, looks up at the ceiling again, heart racing faster and faster with every new thought. He’s been wondering, because he never understood . .

He never gave him the chance because he never knew there was one. Tolerating his brother is something he’s never been able to do before but he thinks he needs to now, because his brother might be the only one who knows.

“Coop?” His voice is too rough, too much pride or leftover resentment stuck in his spine, making it physically impossible for him to look down and meet Cooper’s eyes through the screen. “Can I ask you something?”

Cooper makes a considering sound, then says, “I mean, you only have a minute left since you spent all your time arguing with me, but sure, go for it.”

Suddenly his hands feel empty, and holding his own isn’t enough. He tries to find some sort of bravery, the kind he feels when he’s holding Kurt’s hand, anything to get him to open his mouth and try.

“Uh . .” It’s just that he’s afraid of the answer. It could be everything he needs to hear, or it could be everything he needs to ignore.

Because what if Cooper’s faking it? What if his smile is forced and he’s actually miserable every single day and what if freedom is actually impossible?

He thinks of all the times he’s heard his parents arguing on the phone, putting Cooper down and telling Blaine without telling him that his brother’s a failure. That can’t be what freedom means, that can’t be escaping.

“How do you do it?”

Cooper’s smile remains switched on, despite the way his eyes slightly narrow. “Do what?”

He lets out a helpless laugh, tries to make his chest feel lighter, and finally looks at his brother.

“All I ever hear about you is that you always need money or help from mom and dad. I don’t - I don’t get it. You’re like, thirty, and you keep coming back to them even when they’re always shitting on you, and just - how do you keep doing it?”

Cooper shuts his eyes, nodding his head along to Blaine’s every word.

“First of all, I’m twenty-eight, though I could easily pass for twenty-one,” Cooper says, one hand held out in front of him defensively. “Second of all, I’m going to need you to explain what you mean.”

“Mom and dad, they’ve never agreed with what you do, they’ve never supported it. I just don’t get how - how it doesn’t bother you when you’re always proving them right by always asking for help, you know? You seem so - happy.”

How?

How could you actually be -

Free?

How do you become free?

Cooper taps his fingertips against his lips and hums, actually seeming to think.

“Well, because I love what I do.” His eyes go distant as his smile dims down, suddenly looking a decade younger, the way Blaine remembers him all those years ago when he left. “I don’t measure my success by the amount of money I make like mom and dad do. _I_ measure it by the amount of people who sing the Free Credit Rating Today jingle when I walk past them.”

He laughs, even though nothing is adding up into sense, just adding up into a mess in his brain.

“But how -” He looks away, chews over his lip and tries to form words, thoughts. “I dunno, I just - you’re still so freaking happy when you’re always like, failing, and I just . . .”

I’m jealous.

“Whoa there,” Cooper gasps, holding one hand over his chest, looking genuinely pained for a long moment. “I think your definition of ‘failing’ is a bit skewed, Blainey. I’m not failing. I’m doing what I want to do. Even if I’m not the ‘greatest’, even if I’ve been unfairly deprived of my spot on GQ’s sexiest man alive list, I’m on the path to where I want to be.”

They make eye contact, but Blaine can only hold it for a few seconds, having to look away again, feeling ashamed, feeling stupid, because he still can’t get it.

“. . . even if it’s nowhere?”

“It’s not nowhere, Blaine,” Cooper sighs, running a hand through his hair, and his voice lowers into something serious, something desperate. “It’s not where mom and dad want me to be, so it’s somewhere.”

He’s getting frustrated, hates his brain for not fucking following. What is it that Cooper has that he doesn’t? What part of his brain is different than Blaine’s?

“But you still - every month, Coop, you’re asking for money -”

“Because I refuse to live with a roommate _and_ I shop at Whole Foods. It doesn’t mean -” Cooper clasps his hands together in front of his face again, tilts his forehead down and says with his eyes closed, “Sometimes - a lot of the times, especially in this world, you have to do things by yourself, for yourself, because nobody else is ever going to care enough to do it for you, no matter how good looking you are. As long as I never give up, even if I have to get down on my knees and beg dad for help every month, then I’m not ‘failing’. Do you get it?”

Cooper's never sounded so smart, but it still doesn't make sense.

"So why're you trying to help me?"

Cooper smirks, just slightly. "Because I'm your big brother, duh."

Then it does make sense.

Then he just feels bad.

Somebody needs to care.

Nobody cared about Cooper except for - Cooper.

All alone and he still made it . . .

So he laughs, masks it off as humorous even though it actually hurts. “Sure.”

“If you need further guidance, I personally suggest watching daytime soap operas and learning from the character’s tragic backstories,” Cooper says, his grin back in full force. “And if not, well, you’ll get it eventually, Blaine. _You_ for sure will undoubtedly mess up, but if you stick with it, you’ll get what you deserve.”

He looks down at his lap, fiddles with his hands. He wants to believe him. He wants to try, and he wants to be free, and he wants to be happy, but -

“. . . yeah, but what if you don’t deserve anything?”

What if you mess up every single time you try and what if you break everything you touch and what if you’ve never been told you’re enough when that is all you’ve ever wanted to be?

Cooper shrugs. “Even ugly people have to wake up in the morning. It’s all up to you, little bro. I’ll let you in on a secret though; forget about New York, _Hollywood_ is where it’s at.”

His smile forces its way across his face, his sigh coming out choppy. A sane person wouldn’t take this as advice, wouldn’t hear this as helpful, but he knows Cooper and he knows what he means, sort of, and it does . . . help.

“Yeah, uh, I guess.”

“Remember what the green guy from Star Wars said; ‘Do or do not. There’s always trying.’”

He groans, hides his face in his hands and says, “Yoda never said that -”

“And think of the day you finally get to prove dad wrong. I vote we get a piñata of his face.”

He laughs, says, “Or a cake with ‘fuck you’ written on it.”

Cooper laughs too, erasing and easing the weight over Blaine’s chest.

“It’s just a matter of waiting.”

He looks down at his folded arms and sighs. “Long ass wait.”

“It’s worth it. There’s no time limit. With our genes we age slowly.”

The warmth and sincerity in Cooper’s voice has him looking up again, meeting his smile through the webcam, real despite the distance.

A feeling he’s never grown accustomed to settles in his chest, thrives in every heartbeat.

Relief.

“You should be writing this down too,” he says, jokingly. “It’s actually pretty good advice.”

Cooper holds up his phone, showing Blaine the open memo pad. “One step ahead of you.”

He sighs again, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.”

“Anyway, kiddo, your ten minutes are up,” Cooper says, eyes flickering from his phone to Blaine’s face. “But I’ll talk to you later. You’ll let me crash for a bit with you in New York, right?”

He makes a face, nose scrunching up. “I’ll think about it.”

Cooper smiles and winks at him. “See ya, little brother.”

The call ends, Cooper’s face and voice disappearing, but his words stay in Blaine’s mind.

He leans against his bed frame, drops his head back onto the mattress, and thinks.

Maybe failing is inevitable.

Inevitable, but not an ending.

It’s just what happens.

His whole life is kinda evidence.

But maybe -

He laughs to himself, alone in his bedroom, feeling stupid but hopeful, for the first time in forever.

Maybe trying is still worth it.

Whatever trying is.

-

“No, that’s not where it was before. Blaine, what’s the point in having a diagram when you don’t even pay attention to it?”

He makes sure Kurt’s looking away before he rolls his eyes, then slides the picture frame along the shelf until it’s a bit further away from where he just had it. “There, is that better?”

Kurt looks up from the paper he’s holding and immediately sharpens his glare, breath coming out of him in a sigh. “I should have just asked Finn.”

“Well why didn’t you?”

Eyes back down on the paper, Kurt says almost venomously, “Because unlike you and I, he’s busy with his life.”

Suppressing the groan that climbs up his throat, he turns back to the shelf to move the picture frame a little more over.

How stupid were they to think they could ever actually be together? They can’t even agree on how to unpack a box, how were they ever going to try for forever? Making Kurt’s room un-empty again is just - it’s not something he wants to be doing. Putting every piece of Kurt’s life back where it was, and not where it needs to be, feels so wrong.

Kurt asked like he didn’t want to be asking, and Blaine answered like he didn’t want to be answering.

But he agreed to help because he can’t ever say no if it’s Kurt. He just didn’t realize how hard it would be. It’s going against the grain, fighting against the current, running all the way backwards when his feet just want to go forward.

He breathes in, out, tries to stop his face from twisting up in annoyance as he says, “At this rate we’re gonna be here all night.”

“Then so be it.” Kurt walks over, bats Blaine’s hand away from the picture frame and takes over, adjusting it back to where he _just_ had it. “My clothes have so many crease lines, Blaine, no amount of steaming will save them. I can’t spend the rest of my life with all my belongings packed up in boxes.”

He almost says it.

He almost yells it.

You’re not going to because this is not the rest of your life. Stop thinking that _please_.

“Maybe we’d get done quicker if you weren’t so uptight about a freaking picture frame.”

It just comes out, can’t shut his mouth fast enough. He immediately regrets it when Kurt snaps his glare on him, so heated and so sharp and so hurt it guts Blaine.

“Just - follow the plan,” Kurt says quickly, not sparing a breath, shoving the piece of paper against Blaine’s chest. “I’m going to clear some space in the closet.”

He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, still taking those deep, deep breaths. It’s just a piece of paper with an overly-detailed map of Kurt’s room carefully drawn over it, but he still hates it, because it’s a plan to cancel out Kurt’s previous one; escape.

“Fine.” He can’t do anything about it, so he keeps unpacking the box, tries to follow the plan.

Picture frames, books, a candle holder, another candle holder, another picture frame, another book, he goes through the motions and sorts Kurt’s things out, until he gets to the bottom of the box, where he finds a certificate of participation, a ribbon, a few programs from various competitions, and then -

He notices it right away, because it feels like something he shouldn’t be noticing.

New York.

“Hey,” he says, and holds up the program for Nationals of last year. “What about this?”

Kurt locks up once his eyes land on the program, every muscle going rigid, his eyes going wide. “Throw it out,” he says, voice strung tight and airy. “I don’t - I don’t need it.”

“Kurt -”

“Blaine.” In less than half a second Kurt’s there on the ground next to him, ripping the program out of his hands, looking like he’s about to tear it in half and Blaine’s heart screams out a red alert, _no no no._

“Kurt, hey, hey -” He wraps his hands around Kurt’s wrists and stills him, gets him to loosen his grip. “I’m sorry. Let me - I want it, okay? Can I have it?”

Kurt lets out a low, vicious laugh, and hisses, “You weren’t even there.”

“I don’t care. You were.”

It takes a few seconds, he has to drag his fingers down Kurt’s wrist and gently pry his hand open, but Kurt lets go and lets Blaine take it. He gently folds it in half, tucks it into his back pocket, not entirely sure what he’s gonna do with it but he won’t let it be destroyed.

Kurt keeps letting go of everything he should be holding on to. Blaine doesn’t know how to make him stop. You can’t put your hand over somebody else’s and make them hold something they don’t think they can carry.

One hand still around Kurt’s wrist, he feels the fight and strength fading from Kurt’s bones. Can’t make him hold onto that either.

“We could do this another day, you know,” he says, slowly letting go of Kurt.

We don’t have to do this ever.

“No.” Kurt looks down at his hands and says quietly, “I know every day is the same as the next, same as the last, so it doesn’t matter what I do, but . . . it’s over, so I have to get over it.”

It’s not over, he wants to cry, _you_ say when it’s over not anybody else not any other voice just you, so stop.

“But Kurt - there’s nothing - there’s nothing here.”

Kurt laughs, but it sounds more like a choke, more like a sob than anything else. “There’s nothing out _there_ , Blaine. Not for me.”

“What?” He laughs too, uneasy, nervous, terrified. “Says who?”

“Says everyone!”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Nobody’s _not_ saying it, Blaine!” Kurt snaps, chin now tilted up, eyes locked sharply on Blaine. “ _Blaine_. It’s over.”

He can’t just sit here and listen to this, not when his everything disagrees, not when his first instinct is to reach out and refute that and make it not true.

“Well I’m saying it,” he whispers, and leans even closer, placing one hand along the side of Kurt’s face. “I’m here.”

The words don’t mean much coming from him, because words never mean that much coming from him because he’s not enough to say them.

Words don’t mean much when you don’t even know what to say.

Everything’s just sitting there in his heart, all those things Cooper said to him, all the ideas and thoughts that came to him that night after they hung up. Not enough to say them, not enough to find a way to get them into Kurt’s heart and out of his.

Might have to tear it out and throw it down for him, show him everything, lay every thought and feeling out bare.

“I’m - I’m still on your side.”

“I’m sure,” Kurt says dryly, smiling weakly, one corner of it barely brushing Blaine’s thumb. “I’m not even on my side.”

There’s nothing else he could ever do; he leans forward and kisses him, hard, doesn’t pull back he only pushes forward and brings both hands up to hold Kurt’s face, wants to imprint this kiss on his soul.

Too rough and too weak and too desperate, he asks, “Why do you always think I’m not?”

Even when the world is ending and everyone else is fending for themselves, I’m on your side. I’m with you.

Kurt’s his dream even when he’s not sleeping. Out of all the words he _does_ know, those few are true.

His lips to Blaine’s lips, Kurt stays close as he whispers back, “Because why would you be?”

He shudders his breath out, unable to take another in, can’t get his lungs to function, not until the words have settled and sunk into his skin. No. No -

Here he is, the biggest nothing in the world, and Kurt still doesn’t think he deserves to have him on his side.

His fault. His own fault. Kurt’s smart, of course he must have felt the break in the link, the tug at the chain, the way Blaine tried to run away and leave him.

Only because I hold you back, not because I don’t want to hold you.

He didn’t think. He didn’t think. He only thought about himself, really, so selfish, he didn’t think about the fact that Kurt never had anyone on his side until he came along and _he_ tried to leave. That must have scared him. Does it still scare him? He didn’t _think_.

But -

So alright. Okay. He’s the biggest nothing but _he’s still here_ and if Kurt needs him then he’s not letting go because that’s not something he could ever, ever do. He promised. He needs to be strong enough to keep it now.

He kisses Kurt again, and Kurt kisses back like Blaine’s the last thing remaining in the entire world.

If there’s nobody else, if all that surrounds Kurt is nothing and Blaine’s still here, even when he thinks he shouldn’t be, doesn’t deserve to be . . .

That can’t be nothing.

“Let me show you.” He’s not really sure what he means. “I’m . . I’m here.”

Kurt needs a somebody on his side. If there’s nothing and nobody else but Blaine, he will try to make himself be that somebody.

Because somebody needs to care.

The plan creates itself, right there, with his hands and eyes on Kurt.

A few moments, a few minutes, just to touch and feel and follow. A new plan to show that he will not fade, he will not go.

Even if all the time in the world runs out, he’s here until Kurt isn’t.

Kurt’s hands slip down his arms, until he’s holding the spot above his elbows, fingers like a lock around Blaine, but it’s okay, because he’s not planning on leaving now. Kurt draws him closer and Blaine goes, keeps kissing him, showing him.

They only break apart when Kurt turns his head towards the closed door and mumbles, “I’m not sure when my dad will be home.”

This time they have a limit, a certain amount of seconds before they have to be finished. It’s like they both need forever but are both now aware how unlikely that is, both still desperate for it.

So Blaine tips his forehead to Kurt’s and whispers back, “It’s okay. You’d be surprised by what I can do with a minute.”

Kurt laughs, so loud and sharp and bright and real that it _stuns_ Blaine. His heart starts racing, his dream alive again and thriving in there and making it.

Thought he’d never hear Kurt laugh again, never feel him like this again, so this is his chance and he’s taking it.

“Okay.”

If it’s the last and only thing he ever does, he has to do it good enough. He’ll make it what it should be and not what it was. Special and perfect and together, entirely, because you don’t get what you need, you get what you deserve.

And Kurt deserves everything.

So he’ll give him everything.

Kurt’s the one to stand up, lips never going far, his hands still locked tight around Blaine’s arms as he drags them backwards. All they can physically do is drop to the bed and continue touching, the removal of clothes a struggle because he doesn’t want to part from Kurt, and for some strange reason, Kurt doesn’t want to part from him.

Being together feels right.

Why, why did he ever try to make it not be . . .

His body now bare, all for Kurt to touch and see, he suddenly feels - nervous. Or even a little bit scared.

This is my body and we both know what it can do to you.

He’s red in the face, heat creeping up his spine and attacking his chest, his brain, making him painfully aware of every body part he has that’s touching Kurt.

“Wait,” he says between kisses, exhaling hard over Kurt’s lips, pulling back the slightest bit from Kurt’s body. “I’m -” He can’t hurt Kurt but what if he does what if he makes this wrong again - “Kurt, I - I’m kinda - I need you to know - I’m gonna make it good this time, okay?”

I want to make this right.

When Kurt laughs again it’s quiet, hushed, almost affectionate but almost questioning, and he wasn’t sure it was possible for Kurt to hold onto him tighter, but he does.

“Could it ever be bad?”

He looks down at their connected and close bodies, his chest heaving above Kurt’s, every single finger entwined together, and lets out a laugh of his own.

It really could be. If he took his hands and made it, if he closed his eyes and pretended, if he made his mind think it. He’s done it before and he can do it again and they both know that, they have to, so is it really good?

But he loves Kurt, and despite everything Kurt still loves him, so maybe this is just something to believe in.

It would have driven him mad before, Kurt saying _yes_ when Blaine needed to hear a _no_ , needed a reason to stop. Now Kurt’s yes means everything, and he’s finally, finally going to accept it, because if Kurt’s saying yes still then - then -

This is special to Kurt. He remembers him saying it, couldn’t believe it at the time, hardly believes him now, but it was special . . . because it was with him.

Nothing he does is special.

Kurt’s hands and eyes and racing heart seem to disagree, so does that mean -

That he can’t be all that bad?

Maybe.

A minute, right, they have a minute. Not long enough but it’s all they have so he’s going to make it count and make Kurt see. Not here, not this place, this is not where you’re supposed to be.

He pushes aside his nerves and the fear that sits in his stomach and slides down Kurt’s body, so smooth and cold underneath his hands that if he couldn’t hear Kurt breathing right now he wouldn’t feel alive.

He touches every spot he thought he’d never get to again, kisses everywhere he’s always wanted, leaving marks that don’t hurt along Kurt’s thighs and hips and stomach.

It surprises him how easily Kurt’s skin accepts them, how right it feels.

He wants to make up for every second he spent wrong. He wants to use his hands to apologize because he’s not any good with words and this is the only way Kurt will listen. He wants to give Kurt something to say yes to, because there’s too many people telling him no.

Desperate touches, because he is desperate.

Urgent kisses, because he’s never been so urgent.

His fingers pass over where Kurt’s most resistant, where he wants to touch the most, but he could hurt him, he could do something bad, so he pauses, too caught up in the past of absolute wrongness.

Until Kurt gasps, twists his fingers in Blaine’s hair and pulls, whispers, begs, “Please - Blaine -”

While he’s thinking of the wrongs, Kurt’s thinking of the rights, and he trusts Kurt more than he trusts himself, so he doesn’t stop. He licks over his fingers to wet them, then presses them against Kurt’s hole, just enough to make him whine, just enough pressure to have Kurt arch off the bed and scrape his heels down Blaine’s back.

If they’re supposed to be wrong together why do they feel so good together?

They don’t have _time_ for everything they want and need, so he settles for this, for touching and allowing, for making his heart beat for the both of them, giving up every last breath for Kurt because he’s the only one in the world that will.

He won’t quit this game until it’s finished.

He won’t quit until they win, and even then, with how right this feels, maybe he’ll keep playing.

He’s out of places to kiss, out of air to breathe, completely void of words to say. That minute must almost be over, judging by how tense Kurt is underneath him, how hot it is between them, the noises Kurt’s making that the whole rest of the world must hear.

Giving his last few seconds to Kurt too, he pushes himself up until his body covers his, pressing into and onto him until they’re not two separate pieces, but something much more cohesive.

Almost.

It’s his hand that finishes everything. He needs to prove it to himself that he isn’t going to break anything, that he’s going to hold everything together as tight as he can with his own two hands.

He reaches down between their bodies to where they’re touching but not connected and brings them together, makes them whole.

How it should have been, how it is.

Kurt’s nails dig into his back, his body arches up into Blaine’s, he says _I love you_ like there’s no other words left to say and Blaine does the same.

He lets himself be as weak as he feels when they’re done, when there’s a mess between them but they still don’t want to be apart, staying close to Kurt’s chest because nowhere else in the world feels quite as right.

Barely able to open his eyes, barely able to think, he doesn’t move a muscle until Kurt places his hand on the side of his face and makes him look up.

God, he’s never felt or seen anything so real before. He’s not sure what life was like ten minutes ago, ten weeks ago, ten months or ten years ago, he just knows he wasn’t feeling this much hope, and he just knows Kurt wasn’t smiling the way he is now.

This is what reaching the surface feels like. After being held down under water because that’s where you think you deserve to be, this is breathing.

“So?” The voice in his head is so much louder than the voice that comes out, barely a whisper.

Kurt’s smile fades into a frown, eyes confused as he threads his fingers through Blaine’s hair, pushing it away from his face. “So what?”

He drops his head back down to Kurt’s chest, exhales shakily over his skin.

“Do you - believe me yet?”

Kurt continues to brush back Blaine’s hair, a slight vibration thrumming through his chest as he hums.

“I’ve always believed you, Blaine.”

He laughs so stupidly, like a stupid kid in stupid love, so stupidly relieved. Even though every muscle in him protests movement, he pushes himself up, just enough so he can lean forward and kiss Kurt.

He thinks he knows what to say now.

-

This is probably how he was supposed to feel after their first time together. He doesn’t feel _bad_ like he did before, he just feels -

Anxious.

In a good way, and a not so good way.

Like chasing a train and trying to jump on it, waiting for the right chance to safely get on board. He’s watched Kurt go right by him but he’s been waiting and he knows it’s coming and that this is it. There’s no other moment like this. This is as fast as he’ll ever be.

Kurt smiled today.

The kind of smile he would smile whenever they talked about everything that was going to happen. The kind of smile he would smile when he’d hit the right note and hold it. The kind of smile he’d smile whenever Blaine rubbed his hand along his back and said, ‘You’re amazing.’ and the kind of smile he’d smile when he was reminded of escape, because he used to believe in it and he used to think he deserved it.

Kurt smiled like that today.

This is Blaine’s chance to get in there and show him. _Yes, yes you do._

Kurt’s the brightest thing in the whole world. He needs to realize that for himself now.

“Hey,” he says, his own voice shocking him after minutes of easy silence. “What’re you doing?”

He watches as Kurt moves around the room, already dressed, peering into box after box, frustration written clear across his face. “My dad could be home at any second, Blaine, we need to light a scented candle.”

Still too naked for his liking, he reaches for his shirt, says while pulling it over his head, “Forget the candle, we need to - I need to talk to you.” He exhales heavily, points to his jeans somewhere on the floor. “Hand me my pants?”

Kurt pauses, closes his eyes and breathes in deep, his frustration flaring. “Right, clothes, you need to be wearing clothes when he comes home.” He reaches for Blaine’s jeans, about to throw them to him before he pauses again. “You should really throw this out,” he says disdainfully, pulling the National's program from the back pocket. “This is how hoarding starts, remember?”

“God, remind me to never watch that show with you ever again,” he groans, grabbing his pants from Kurt and pulling them on. “And I’m not getting rid of it if it means something to you.”

Kurt scoffs, giving his head a shake as he sets the program aside. “It’s a piece of paper. It’d be silly if it meant anything.”

“But it’s from New York.”

“New York doesn’t mean anything either. It’s just a city,” Kurt says, louder, switching his gaze back to Blaine. “Come on, do your fly up.”

He hates when Kurt sounds like this, happening too often too lately. There’s always been a hint of something, something silver, something shining in his voice. Now he just sounds dark.

Now he just sounds faster, and Blaine needs to keep up.

He can’t keep a smile as Kurt comes up to him, licking over his fingers and smoothing down all his crazy curls, just watches with a dumb look on his face as Kurt combs his hair back.

“I actually do need to talk to you,” he says, finally meeting Kurt’s eyes, noticing immediately just how dim they are.

I need to try and talk to you.

Kurt sighs dramatically, bringing one hand up to smooth back his own hair. “If it’s about how my entire being smells like spoiled milk, trust me, I know. I think it’s all part of working in a coffee shop.”

He lets out a short, forced laugh, and looks down at his hands, hooks his fingers together, tries to find bravery, tries to act with courage.

“I’m serious.”

Time slows down as Kurt takes a small step back, any trace of his smile gone, any sign that tonight happened wiped away.

“Blaine . . .”

“Come - come here?” he asks, holding out his hand, suddenly and completely afraid that Kurt might not take it.

Kurt does, clearly wary as he threads his fingers through Blaine’s.

Afraid now that Kurt might make him let go, he holds on tighter and pulls Kurt closer, guides them back onto the bed because he’s not sure if he can stand and say this.

Of all the things they could do together, this is the scariest, this is something he could break, this is most definitely something he can do wrong.

Oh god, don’t get this wrong. You can’t. You promised.

“I feel like - uh, I’ve been trying for a while, to think of what to - to try and think - I’ve been -”

Such a fool with words. They never make sense in his head and the intention always gets lost between his brain and his tongue. He laughs uneasily even though the last thing he wants to do is laugh, and tries to think of the first word to say. It’s such a critical first word. More important than the _I_ in _I love you_.

Underneath his hand, Kurt’s goes tense.

The lightest shade of fear colours Kurt’s skin, but his expression wavers back to blank as he says, voice just beginning to shake, “Blaine, you’re freaking me out.”

He exhales loudly, nervously, and grips Kurt’s hand harder. “I _am_ freaking out.”

He doesn’t have a plan for this.

This isn’t the word forever, or the word together. Those two words say everything he could ever need, but this is no longer about that.

It’s everything that Kurt needs and everything he deserves and it’s everything Kurt can’t see, so how is a nothing like Blaine supposed to come up with enough words to describe that?

He’s afraid to look into Kurt’s eyes. Always been his compass, his map, his guide, but now he knows they’ll only throw him off track, make him lost.

“We need to - we need to talk about what’s happening.”

Kurt’s hand slips out from his so fast he swears it was never there.

“Nothing is happening, Blaine,” Kurt says darkly, insistently, and Blaine does look then, meets Kurt’s sharp and dangerous glare, the way he’s already pleading and begging _no_ with his eyes.

“Exactly.” He finds Kurt’s hand again and prays that he doesn’t stop him. “Nothing's - nothing’s happening, Kurt. Come on, look around us and tell me, does any of this seem right to you?”

Kurt looks away and shakes his head, sounding defeated and gone and breathless as he says, “I don’t get to decide what’s right.”

“Screw that!” He turns entirely to Kurt, takes his other hand too, needs to feel his skin along his because he needs proof that Kurt’s still here. “We both know that this isn’t it - it can’t be.”

When Kurt breathes out it very nearly sounds like a sob, and it very nearly kills Blaine.

“Why can’t you accept it, Blaine? It’s - it’s fine. It’s called adapting. It’s fine -”

_It’s fine_. If he ever has to hear those two words again he’ll scream.

So he shuts his eyes, finds that if he’s not looking at Kurt then he can at least _see_ what he wants to mean with his words.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Eyes still closed, hysteria building, he licks over his lips and keeps fighting to breathe, has to say this, as bad as it hurts. “You’re killing yourself. By working at that stupid coffee shop and by pretending it’s fine and - you’re killing yourself by thinking you deserve to stay here.”

“Blaine.” He doesn’t have to be looking at Kurt to feel the plea in his glare. “Why - why are you doing this now? Drop it.”

I can’t drop something that needs to be held up. I can’t let go of something that I believe in so much.

I’m here, and I see you, and if it’s the last and only thing I ever do, I have to do it good enough.

I need to.

“I’m not going to drop it, somebody needs to finally fucking say it!”

Kurt loses it, lets go of his last bit of strength and restraint, yells and shouts and twists his voice higher, “There’s nothing to say!”

It felt like an open door earlier, his one chance to get in and _show_ Kurt. God was he blind. Not an open door, but a wall, sound-proof and concrete with nothing getting in, and nothing coming out.

He stands up, doesn’t step forward or move he just has to stand because sitting down now makes him feel so useless.

“You can’t - you can’t stay here!” His eyes scan the room, not Kurt’s room anymore, hasn’t been in a while. Just boxes and things that need to be packed. “I wanted to tell you right from the start but I didn’t - I don’t know how - Kurt, this isn’t working.”

“I’m trying to make it work!” Kurt pulls his arms around himself, angles his body away from Blaine’s, breathes heavily in the direction of the wall. “It makes sense to me now - it has to make sense. It’s fine -”

“It’s not fine!” He wants to know Kurt’s definition of fine, if everything he’s ever been is _fine_. People hurt him with their hands and it’s fine, and people ignore his presence and his skill and it’s fine, and people tell him he’s not talented or good enough and it’s fine. “Kurt, open your eyes - _this_ isn’t fine.”

“It’s not that easy, Blaine,” Kurt says, quieter now, like he’s lost all his air. He holds himself the way Blaine does when he needs something stronger to hold onto, digging his fingers into his arms, curling in on himself. “Why do you always think that I want these things to happen to me? I don’t but - they just do and I’m tired of fighting. It’s over.”

He realizes then, as he tries to speak, that he’s crying. Not in the full, broken sobbing way, but in the way where you lose your voice and your throat hurts and your eyes happen to be on fucking fire with tears that refuse to come out.

It hurts.

He lets it happen.

“So what? You’re just - giving up?”

“I’m not - giving up.” Kurt’s gazes meets his, and Blaine imagines Kurt’s feeling the same exact way, his eyes red and wet too. “I’m accepting my situation. There’s a difference.”

There isn’t, he wants to shout, because that's what he did. As soon as everything broke and fell apart he accepted it, knew it was his own fault, that there wouldn’t ever be reprieve because he would never deserve it.

But there is a difference between accepting it as your situation and accepting it as your fate.

Manic and increasingly panicked and all out of ideas, he turns around and walks towards the shelves.

“Well - I’m not.”

The tension bursts, fills the room up with water and fast currents and sends everything this way and that way and makes it all lost. He doesn’t know what else to do. He is not going to surrender and help Kurt put his life back on the shelf.

He has to make the shelves empty again, has to put everything back into boxes because if there’s nothing here then Kurt can’t stay he won’t stay he can’t -

He grabs that stupid fucking picture frame from earlier and throws it back in the box it came from, doesn’t stop, grabs the next thing he sees and throws that too.

“Blaine!” Kurt shrieks and jolts across the room, collides his body into Blaine’s and puts his hands around his arms and tries to hold him back but Blaine resists, keeps moving until the first shelf is cleared again, keeps throwing things back into the fucking box because Kurt can’t stay.

“ _What are you doing?_ ”

Kurt sounds genuinely panicked, terrified, but Blaine can’t let himself hear it and affect him.

“You’re not - staying here. I don’t give a fuck what anyone says, what anyone thinks! Kurt, you’re - you know what you’re capable of and it’s not this. You know you’re enough - I don’t know how else - to show you.”

“Blaine!” Kurt cries, but keeps his hands to himself. “Blaine - stop, please -”

He shakes his head, half dizzy and weak and half rage and anger. Complete desperation.

“You don’t get to just - give up on something you’re meant to do all because one person says you can’t. You can’t just - you can’t listen to them -”

When Kurt touches him again he feels it. He shrugs off his touch but he still feels it, has to stop moving so he can catch his breath and wipe at his eyes and push past the burn rising up and down his throat.

“Stop.” Kurt puts his hands back on him, both of them, slides them up his forearms until they’re secure above his elbows and turns him around, but he can’t look up, breathing too hard and scared and wrong.

“You can’t, Kurt -”

“I need you to stop.”

“What did you think was gonna happen?” Hearing himself speak, his voice so loud in the small space of four walls, he knows he should stop, should quiet down, should think through his words before he shouts them and hurts Kurt, but he can’t. “What could you possibly be hoping for - you really think this is what you’re meant for? Settling down in this shitty ass town with the first guy to fuck your brains out? Do you really think - you think that’s what you deserve?”

“Blaine -” Kurt’s fingers dig into his arms, likely to leave little marks in Blaine’s skin. He makes a noise like he can’t breathe and chokes out, “That’s not what you are - I need you to - stop you need to stop -”

“I don’t know how else to - Kurt, I love you I need you to - I can’t do this anymore I can’t just pretend everything’s okay when I can see it’s not - you need to see.”

“What - what could you possibly show me that I don’t already know?”

He doesn’t even know what he’s _supposed_ to be seeing and Blaine can’t figure out how to be his eyes for him how to show him -

Everything.

Every single thing I see, and everything I need, and everything you need, and what we are and what we can’t be.

“Everything I see!” he yells, ripping his arms out of Kurt’s hold and placing his hands on Kurt’s face, fingers curving around his jaw. “You don’t deserve to be here like you think you do. I know you can still do this.”

That’s the one thing I _do_ know -

After a moment, maybe two, Kurt sobs out his breath, then goes quiet.

“. . . do what? There’s nothing - it was my one chance, and I didn’t get it.”

“No, Kurt -”

Nobody else ever noticed Kurt. Nobody else ever listened to him when he put his hand up and nobody ever defended him when he was pushed down and nobody was ever on his side. Blaine was always scared of it getting worse, of somebody causing permanent damage.

He had no idea it’d be like this.

“It doesn’t matter what you see, it doesn’t change anything -”

“Don’t listen to them, _don’t even listen to me_ , just -” He tilts Kurt’s face up, forces Kurt to look right at him and hear this. “Why can’t you - why can’t you just listen to yourself?”

He sees it happen, watches as Kurt’s broken expression ices back over, as his breathing cuts off, because the second it happens so does the rest of the world.

Kurt says so coldly, so distant, “Why can’t you?”

It takes three words to make his system malfunction. Usually it’s three words followed by a kiss, now it’s three words shot right through him.

It hurts so bad he thinks he’s bleeding, has to shake out his head and stammer, “Wait - what?”

“You of all people -” For half a second Kurt looks like he doesn’t want to be doing this, but his gaze hardens and he cries out, “You don’t get to stand there and tell _me_ to try when you’ve never even made an attempt before -”

Just like that, he lets go of Kurt in all the ways he swore he never would.

He takes a step back, needs room, needs air, needs to sit down and try to make sense of all this because Kurt’s never ever tried to hurt him before and -

Kurt’s quick to put his hands back on him, the skin of his palms sliding up the skin of Blaine’s arms but Blaine can’t feel any of it anymore.

“Blaine, I didn’t mean -”

“No it’s -” It’s not fine.

He feels himself chip away, soul and heart eroding right out of his body until he’s nothing but broken muscles and bones and the remnants of failure.

Tried so hard tonight, tried to make his words make sense, tried to use them right and tried to prove it -

Still not good enough.

Still never good enough.

He keeps walking backwards, away from Kurt, and tries to make his lungs work, except he already gave up all his oxygen, so he can’t.

Doesn’t even matter.

“Blaine, I’m so sorry -” Kurt sounds borderline hysterical, taking a step closer every time Blaine takes a step back. “I didn’t mean -”

He just feels sick. No other word for it.

“Whatever.” He shrugs, the muscles in his face trying desperately to contort into ugly shapes and lines. “You’re - you're not wrong.”

When he turns around he only wants to turn back, but now he knows there’s no point. Can’t make Kurt believe in himself when Kurt doesn’t believe in him.

Did he ever?

He doesn’t want to stay and find out.

Apparently his dreams were really all in his head. Now he just wants to go back to sleep.

“I didn’t mean it, Blaine, I -”

Kurt’s been the one thing he has always believed in, no matter the circumstances. Even right now, he’s never believed in him more.

“But you did, didn’t you?” he asks, dejectedly, never felt this weightless or hollow before, mind so empty his thoughts echo. “I guess - um, I guess there’s nothing else I can do then.”

Staying won’t help. It’d just lead to fighting, to yelling, to Blaine giving his everything and having it come out as nothing, because that’s what he is.

So even though he promised, he turns around and doesn’t look, doesn’t see, and he leaves.

-

The real kicker is actually waking up. He’s not sure when he fell asleep, just knows it was sometime past midnight and that he hadn’t even bothered to change out of his clothes. His hair’s a mess, his eyes - he doesn’t remember crying either because there’s no reason to fucking cry, but his eyes are sore and swollen. He pushes through the grey-muddled tiredness and forces himself awake, blinks at the sun-filled room, waits for it to all come crashing down on him.

He should be used to this. This has been his _entire life._

The one constant he’s had though, over the past few months, was that Kurt didn’t care about his bad parts. Not even when Blaine needed him to care, needed him to _not care_ about him.

He’s never felt this bad before. He can't believe he almost thought he wasn’t.

Closing his eyes, he lays back down and tries to will away consciousness. There’s a bad taste in his mouth. He really needs to shower. His mind won’t shut up. A million thoughts fill up his mind.

But he can’t think of one good reason to actually get up, get changed, and start living.

-

Cooper’s check comes in, along with an obnoxious amount of glitter trapped inside the envelope.

Blaine shakes it off, can’t even be annoyed, can’t feel anything, just stares at the slip of paper that’s got a few numbers on it. Not a lot, but more than Blaine needs. Not a lot, but that’s not why Cooper sent it, that’s not what he means.

He’s not sure what to do with it anymore. He had ideas, sort of. Now they don’t really matter.

You get what you deserve.

Apparently that’s still nothing.

-

This isn’t easy.

He can’t accept it.

He can’t.

Every day since has been going through the motions, making himself get up and get through it, not caring about anything anymore. It’s like the way life was before Kurt, before he knew what being good was like, before he knew about caring, about trying.

He should be able to just let go now. This is what he needed to happen in the first place. This is why he stupidly tried to break and scare Kurt and make him leave. This is his fault.

It just really fucking hurts still. He’s in love. You can’t just - forget that overnight.

Kurt was the last light in his world, barely hanging on and barely lighting up, but he was there and he helped Blaine see. Having him fade out, leaving Blaine back in darkness, well, he knows he deserves it but there’s still something in his mind trying to turn the lights back on.

Still trying to find a way to see for himself, fumbling around in the pitch black for the light switch that he knows is there.

Every single person he’s come across has told him he’s not quite enough, not quite good, too bad, too dark. Which he is. Which is true. Which can’t be anything other than right . . . right?

If this is what he needed . . . how come it doesn’t _feel_ right then?

That’s the one thing he knows for sure, as he lays there on his bed by himself like some lovesick, heartbroken movie cliché.

This pain doesn’t feel right. Separated too soon, ripped in half when you’re just beginning to form, a heart taken out of the chest of somebody still breathing.

Somehow, his heart is still beating.

He wants it to stop, wavers between hating himself because he wasn’t enough when he absolutely needed to be, and hating himself for still wanting to try.

But try for what, and how do you do it?

Since he’s never been in a relationship before, he’s not really sure what defines a breakup. This must be it though, because he’s in pain everywhere. From the bones in his wrists to his spine to his _teeth_.

He counts his heartbeats until he loses track and starts over again. He’s at one hundred and seventeen when his phone rings, and then the beats stop altogether. Kurt’s name and picture come up on the screen and something grips tight at his heart, tries to get it playing again, but he doesn’t answer.

He can’t answer, because he doesn’t know what to say to him.

He thinks he has to figure out what he wants to say to himself first.

-

It’s when he hears his parents fighting over the phone that he really thinks about it.

His dad wants to try and find another school in Westerville for him, his mom wants him to stay, and of course Blaine doesn’t get a say in any of it. He has to sit back and listen as they shout over things that don’t need to be shouted about, as they yell and fight over a question that could so simply be answered if they just asked him.

He realizes that maybe, in some sick, awful way, that they never ask because they don’t know how to function without this. They don’t know how to love each other, so they have no choice but to fight with each other.

Where did their belief go?

Where does it even come from?

Did they ever really have it?

You can’t make a promise like that and then believe in it. You can’t ask somebody to marry you and exchange vows and then try to mean the words after. You can’t promise forever because you don’t know what forever even means.

You can promise to try though.

Really, all he's ever needed is the idea that it could be possible. 

As he listens to them fight, he realizes they don’t know how to try, so how could they ever judge him? Why did he ever, ever listen to them?

He still believes.

Kurt came into his life and smacked him upside the head with his everything and made Blaine a believer. Blaine didn’t even care about trying to see with the light on until Kurt showed him how right it is.

He’s alone right now but light like that just doesn’t fucking fade, it can’t, not when you believe so goddamn much, when you still need it for _yourself_ so much, so he thinks.

You look up at the sky and see millions of stars and you just have to believe that there are worlds beyond them. You open up a book and believe every word and follow a God that you haven’t ever seen or ever even heard. You watch and believe whatever’s in the magazines, on the news, even though most of it isn’t true.

Out of all these things we shouldn’t believe in but do, how come one of them isn’t you?

As bad as he wants to listen to Kurt, as easy as it was to let it hurt him, if he’s still here and breathing and looking for that goddamn light switch then - then that’s . . .

Belief is like breathing.

He wants to give up every breath for Kurt, he wants to believe for the both of them, or purely and solely _for_ him, but that’s not how it works. It can’t work like that, because if it did, Blaine would die. Nobody would breathe for him. Not his parents, not Kurt, not anybody else.

He thinks maybe that’s what Cooper was trying to tell him.

It has to be your heart and your lungs and your will to live. Now his heart’s a little bit sore, like a muscle that’s never really been used before, just barely there, but still beating.

Fuck, really, he’s just - he’s so tired of this. This has been his entire life, through no fault of his own, because he listened to and believed other people over himself. He’s tired of that, tired of wanting to be asleep when he needs to be awake.

The rest of forever is a long, long time . . .

How is he supposed to go the rest of his life knowing he never tried?

He can’t even last another _day_.

That’s why this doesn’t feel right. There's a voice in his head begging and pleading and needing, and here he is, listening to somebody else.

Can’t exist like that anymore, because a life where you don’t care whether or not you’re breathing -

Well, you’re alive.

But that’s not really living.

Tomorrow is as dark as you make it, kinda, even when there’s really no light.

His mom is sitting at the table in the kitchen when he walks in, raking her fingers through her hair as she repeats what she’s said a thousand times already. For the first time since she took it off, he notices her ring finger, void of vows and silver, and now he gets what it means.

He takes the phone from her, bringing it up to his ear, and says without shaking once, “Hey, dad, I’m actually fine where I am, but uh, thanks.”

He hangs up right after and hands the phone back.

You get what you deserve. He’s been telling himself that since he was little, because that’s what they all made him believe. He doesn’t want to let them make decisions for him, because if it’s their decision then he’ll never be enough for them. He doesn’t want to be a nothing anymore, not when he could be a something to himself.

Even if nobody else wants him to, nobody else cares, he still needs tomorrow and he’s going to breathe enough to get there.

All he wants to do is help people, but he’s never really thought about helping himself.

It’s time to start listening to himself, whatever it is he has to say. It’s time to do what feels right, because needing to break things so badly is wrong.

And he doesn’t deserve that.

-

There are approximately eight million people in New York City. One of them is bound to fall in love with Kurt, if not all of them. And eight million people, one of them (if not all of them) is bound to be better than Blaine, more than Blaine, because they’re already there and they won’t have to try the way he will.

He tells himself this as he circles the mall, too afraid to go into the one store that he needs to go into. He hovers near the entrance before deciding to do another lap around for good measure.

Forever is something he shouldn’t believe in. He’s watched his parents fall apart since the day he was born. He’s been robbed of everything he thought he could hold onto and he’s had to break everything he refused to let go of and he’s been forced into a state of uncaring because if he cared then he’d just fail. Nobody ever told him he could have forever or showed him it was possible.

Nobody ever told him.

If nobody is going to tell him, then he’s going to listen to the voice in his head, because his heart has always really been in his mind.

Kurt was right. As bad as it hurt to hear, he was right and Blaine can’t blame him for saying it.

Who is he to yell at Kurt and beg him to try when he was just seconds from shutting out his one and only light? When he felt so dark and felt like he deserved to be dark and he was ready to accept that as his life. Who is he to tell Kurt to try when he was already quitting?

He _didn’t_ know how to try.

Maybe he doesn’t know how now.

He’s gonna figure it out.

It’s all he can say. _I love you_ doesn’t fix anything, can’t make things right or make them good, but when you never believed in it and you’re still feeling it anyway, that could never be nothing.

It wasn’t just confusion and curiosity he felt whenever he saw two people holding hands; it was also jealousy. He wanted it so bad, he needed it, but could never actually let himself believe in it, kept his dream in his head and out of his hands because he’d just break it.

But he does believe. He never could not.

The employees of the store have definitely started to notice him, staring at him oddly through the glass windows. He takes a deep breath in and holds it, feels for his wallet that’s got all the money Cooper sent him and all those gift cards he got for Christmas, and because he’s still learning how to try, even now, he makes himself brave enough to walk into the store.

Crystal clear cases surround him, rows and rows of silver and gold and diamonds and things he will never be worthy of touching. He feels so out of place, can feel the eyes of all the employees and can feel their judgement but they don’t know him, so they can’t really judge him. They don’t know.

When you’re eighteen years old, you’re not supposed to hold somebody’s hand and imagine yourself holding it everyday for the rest of your life. Such a crazy dreamer, always thinking and hoping and wishing, because ever since he first held Kurt’s hand, he has.

They don’t know just how bright his world is, so how could they ever call him dark?

And sure, he’s a dumb young kid in love, but he’s a dumb young kid in love with Kurt, and that makes all the difference.

So when the salesperson behind the counter finally acknowledges his presence and asks, “Do you need help finding anything?” he looks up and smiles and makes every effort to try by saying, “Yeah, actually. I’m looking for a ring.”

-

It’s nothing fancy, because _holy shit_ , that place was expensive.

Just a little silver band with one little diamond in it, one you have to squint to see, but it’s alright, because he knows it’s there and that’s enough.

It’s enough because none of it is made of glass or plastic, so none of it can break.

It can sink though. It’s the most weightless thing in the world but still so heavy, so it can so easily sink, but only if you let go.

He won’t.

He feels silly, holding the ring by himself alone in his bedroom. Like an idiot, so stupid, who even does this? If he returns it though, then that’s quitting, and that’s failing, and that’s nothing. So he holds onto it and spins it around his finger, looking at it, thinking of all the words he needs to say and what he wants to mean with them.

Then it occurs to him that the stupid thing might not even fit Kurt. He didn’t even think about that. He tries it on, sliding it down onto his index finger, a bit of a tight fit on him but it should work for Kurt.

Except then he can’t get it off. It’s so stuck he thinks the silver has melted into his skin. His finger swells and he panics and the stupid thing _won’t come off_ which is kind of the point but the ring isn’t meant to be on his finger so he _panics._

His mind fills with so much panic that he narrows down his entire life into two options; cut off his own finger, or call 9-1-1.

Or -

He really doesn’t want to.

Ask his mom for help.

His face is almost as red as his finger, cheeks burning and eyes nearly watering from the utter humiliation of having to make his way down the stairs and into the living room where his mom is, roughly clearing his throat and barely getting out, “Uh. Mom?”

She laughs. She agrees to help him, but she doesn’t stop laughing.

Not until she finally looks at the ring stuck on his finger, and then her eyes go hard, and her voice goes serious.

“. . . Blainey, please, please tell me you stole that.”

Swallowing down the dryness in his throat, he looks away and says, “Nope.”

She takes hold of his wrist, slowly and carefully raises his arm up in the air to get his blood to flow downwards, says nothing as she breathes deeply, staring at him intently.

“Is it - you know that’s an engagement ring, right?”

He lets out a short, harsh laugh and shrugs, feeling far too compromised with his arm up in the air right now to give her a real response.

“I don’t care what kind of ring it is I just want it off my finger -”

They eventually get it, after spraying copious amounts of Windex, after praying to every God out there.

Then the kitchen settles into long seconds of silence, the ring sitting safely in his mom’s hand.

He holds his hand close to his chest, waiting for the heat and hurt and panic to fade out, waiting for his mom to stop _staring_ at him.

Like she’s afraid to find out, she asks, quietly, “So, is it from Kurt?”

He laughs viciously, twists his mouth into a snarl and spits out, “ _No_.”

Because Kurt isn’t as stupid and crazy as he is.

“. . . is it for Kurt?”

He has to look away, turning his entire body in the opposite direction. He feels so exposed, the lights now turned on too brightly, highlighting every single thing that’s wrong with his plan.

But it is for Kurt. Blaine is stupid and crazy and he’s in love and it’s for Kurt, and there could never be anything wrong with that.

“Who else is there?”

She lets out a hysterical laugh, places her hand on his shoulder and says almost pleadingly, with disbelief and shock in her voice, “Blaine, you’re eighteen years old, you aren’t even finished high school -”

He shrugs off her hold and spins back to face her, angry now because he knows he’s eighteen he _knows_ it’s insane he doesn’t need her to tell him. “Listen!” he shouts, and he hates that the ring is still in her hand and out of his. “I don’t know what kind of ring it even is, okay? I don’t know what I mean with it. So can you lay off? It’s not for you.”

You wouldn’t understand because it’s not for you -

He’s trying too desperately to breathe again, not really mad, just - done with people telling him no.

His mom surprises him by reaching out again, her hand careful and hesitant as it wraps around his arm, as she pulls him closer. It takes a bit of force to get him to uncurl his fist, but she manages, placing the ring back in his hand before closing her fingers around his, securing it.

Relief radiates up from his hand and through his entire body.

“Blaine?” Still sounding scared and skeptical, she clears her throat before saying, “He’s going to love it.”

He feels the ring press into the skin of his palm, cold but warm and small but big and not wrong, but only right.

He lets out a helpless, tired laugh, and says, “I hope so.”

He never tries it on again, even though he’s not sure if it’ll fit Kurt now.

Doubt’s been placed in his mind, because what if Kurt doesn’t love it? He’s the only one that _can_ love it, because he’s the only one that it’s for, but what if he doesn’t? Blaine isn’t sure what he’ll do.

And what if it is all just some huge sham? What if forever is actually a giant lie and what if dreams don’t really come true no matter how much you believe in them?

What if it’s all for nothing?

He twists the ring around in his fingers and decides, that if he means something with it and he goes through with it, despite the odds and the eight million people, then that is not nothing.

Happy endings aren’t realistic, but they have to be possible.

We all die, but we can’t all die miserable.

Right?

He just needs more time to think things through, to come up with all the right words that he already knows how to say. He just needs a few more hours, just enough to make a day.

Or maybe just a minute.

-

It takes him nearly a week to figure out what trying really means.

He’s still figuring it out now.

There’s a ring in his pocket that he wants to put on Kurt’s finger and he just knows that if he steps foot inside the Hummel household then Burt will somehow sense it and skin Blaine alive.

So he sits in his car and looks out the window, at the big white house that doesn’t really resemble a castle, or a dungeon, but that’s what it is. It’s a place to live but it’s not a place to live life. It’s Kurt’s prison.

He can’t give Kurt an escape. Kurt’s the prince trapped in a castle but Blaine can’t be his guide, can’t show him the way, can’t break apart the bars that trap him and set him free.

But he can still help play a part in it.

He _didn’t_ know how to try.

He’s used his hands and his heart to snap and crack and break things. He used his hands to make himself bad.

And Kurt . . .

Kurt used his hands and his heart to to make and create things. He used his hands to make himself _good_.

When it’s all up to you, then you can only listen to you.

No matter what everyone else is saying.

He gets it now.

So this is him listening to himself, whatever it is he really wants to say.

Maybe he’s crazy, or maybe he’s just in love. Who’s to say, who’s to judge?

Any minute now . . . any minute now he’ll get out of this car and go up and knock on that door and talk to Kurt and tell him everything he’s just recently learned, tell him everything he feels, tell him how scared he is and tell him how much he doesn’t care about something like fear.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, taking this last moment to really think.

Kurt might not ever believe him. Kurt might not ever believe in him.

He still has to -

A soft knock on his window scares him, makes him bolt him upright, eyes wide as he looks to his side. The first thing he registers is Kurt’s smile. He stays stuck in a moment, too deep in a daydream, confused for a few seconds because it’s Kurt and he’s _there_ and he’s _smiling_.

Kurt mouths the word _hi_ , and Blaine finally smiles back.

His heart is racing as he opens the door, muscles too melted and heavy as he turns his body to face Kurt.

“Hi,” he says, a bit shamefully, smile weakening. “How did, uh, how’d you know I was here?”

Kurt stands above him, and it’s been days and days since they’ve seen each other but nothing about him looks unrecognizable. “I could see you from the kitchen.”

“Oh.” He sighs, looks down at his hands and quietly admits, “I got - um, I got scared.”

Days without each other and he can still feel Kurt’s smile without ever having to look at him.

“What are you doing here?” Kurt asks, now sounding breathless, standing in the space between the door and the car, crossing his arms over his chest.

Without any hesitation, he says, “I’m here for you.” Because he is here for Kurt. “Got a minute?”

He’s never seen Kurt look so relieved before, his chest deflating with his exhale, his eyes shining on Blaine. “For you, I have plenty.”

Instead of opening the other door for him, Blaine slides over so Kurt can take his seat, grabbing his hand and pulling him in.

Once their hands are together he doesn’t want to let go. Once the door closes behind Kurt and suddenly the world is just them, he wants it to stay that way.

Kurt talks before he can even think of where to start, immediately turning to Blaine and grabbing his other hand too, saying with heavy sincerity, “I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

He almost forgot that there was anything to be sorry for.

He shrugs, focusing on rubbing his thumbs into Kurt’s skin, so relieved to feel him again. “Don’t be.”

“You haven’t been answering any of my calls I’ve been going out-of-my-mind crazy -”

“It’s alright.”

Breathing too quick, talking too fast, Kurt’s eyes water and his face flushes red and he looks at Blaine so hopelessly, so desperately, so how could he not believe that he’s sorry?

“I shouldn’t have ever said that to you.”

He leans forward, places one hand on the back of Kurt’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads touch. He lowers his voice and whispers, “I’m serious, Kurt. It’s okay.”

Kurt shuts his eyes and lets out something that sounds like a sob, shakes his head and says, “But _you_ wouldn’t have ever said that to me. You mean everything to me, Blaine, and I - I used it against you. Let me admit I was wrong.”

“But you weren’t.”

He wasn’t.

Kurt inhales shakily, doesn’t release it until Blaine leans even closer, nudges his nose off Kurt’s and repeats himself. “It’s okay.”

This is what it must feel like to finally win a war. No more fighting, just breathing, just peace.

They’re just getting started though. They haven’t even reached the first point of the first word.

A few days without Kurt was a few days too long, his body doesn’t want to let go, he has to force all his muscles to work so he can pull himself back. “Um. I guess - I’m here ‘cause -” His pulse switches into a different gear, controlled by panic, heart beating so fast it’s punching his ribcage. “I need to talk to you.”

Kurt’s breath hitches instead of quickens, gaze losing its desperation, turning fearful.

He senses and sees the dread in Kurt’s face and grabs at his hand again, says more insistently, “I’m - I’m sorry for before. I’m not gonna yell or get mad this time, okay?”

Kurt’s hand twitches underneath his. “Okay.” He looks at Blaine, gives him a small smile and nods. “Okay.”

Where to start? He knew he should have written notes, should have rehearsed, he knew he was going to forget.

But one look at Kurt’s face is enough. Everything he is forms the words in Blaine’s head, puts them back together and makes them make sense. Kurt gives Blaine the words that his everything believes in.

“You can’t be here anymore, Kurt.” It’s out, he can’t take it back, and Kurt’s hand flinches but they can’t go back and he can’t quit. “You can’t stay here, it’s not right. And - and I’m not just saying this because I’m totally fucking in love with you, I’m saying this because it’s what I believe in. There’s nothing here for you. There never was.”

He expects a fight. He expects Kurt to take his hand away and leave or make him go.

Instead, Kurt nods, slowly, like Blaine’s words are delayed and he’s finally, finally hearing them.

“Blaine?” Kurt asks, scared and quiet, still looking at Blaine like he’s not real, not there. “I’m - I’m listening, but - can I say something?”

“Of course.” It comes out of him in a high-pitched yelp, panic controlling every part of him now, his hand squeezing Kurt’s tightly. “Anything, say anything.”

He watches as Kurt switches from staring out the windshield, to the ceiling, down to his lap.

When he finally speaks, it’s so quiet Blaine can barely hear it.

“I’ve actually been thinking lately. You made me finally admit to myself that I needed to.” Kurt closes his eyes, wearing his exhaustion with his entire body as he slowly breathes out. “It’s like a dam broke, Blaine. I was so sure before that I wasn’t giving up, but now I realize . . . the truth is that there was nothing for me to even give up on. I never had it.”

Even though he wants to shout and disagree, he keeps his lips sealed, settles for moving closer, needs to be closer, lets Kurt talk because Kurt’s never let himself talk.

“I’ve spent the past four years trying to stand out, to make people notice me for my talent and skill instead of my - my everything else. And nobody did. So I had this feeling. Like I knew, deep down, that I wasn’t going to get in. I still hoped though. I hoped so much I almost _prayed_.”

So high up, as fast as it can go, panic controls him but he doesn’t spit out _I did, I always noticed_ , because that’s not what Kurt needs.

Kurt turns their hands over, fingers locking up tighter with Blaine’s, and he looks at him, letting out a sad little laugh.

“This was my last chance to make them notice, and it didn’t work, and I should have known. So maybe -” He laughs again, and looks down at their hands. “What’s the point in hoping when this is all that comes from it?”

While he doesn’t agree, he understands. He understands too much. “Kurt . . .”

“You think I’m giving up . . . I’m not . .” Kurt trails off, and looks so sad and so small and so far down under and lost. “It’s not giving up when you were never going to get it in the first place.”

It feels like he’s breaking apart, being pulled apart, his body metal and his heart a magnet trying so fucking hard to get everything to stay together. He keeps holding Kurt, can’t drift when he’s holding him, and uses all his fight to remember his words.

“Well, says who?” He laughs brokenly, looking up from their hands to Kurt’s face, giving him a confused sort of smile. “Some lady who you’ve never even met before? Why does she get to decide what you’re gonna do with the rest of your life? You can’t listen to her. You can’t even listen to - _some guy_ you’ve only known for a few months, no matter how much he loves you.”

I love you so much but -

“Remember when you told me that you couldn’t change them, so they couldn’t change you? Isn’t this like, the same thing? And what about all those years you were really by yourself? Who were you listening to then?”

The car is quiet, Kurt’s laugh puncturing the silence, and it’s not a venomous laugh, it’s real and it’s sad and it’s weak. “Part of me wants to say Lady Gaga, another wants to say Rachael Ray.”

He cracks, smile tugging up to the side. “Kurt.”

The silence returns, but it can't really be silent when their racing pulses fill the air, when every worried thought is breathable. Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand and whispers, “I don’t think listening to myself is enough anymore, Blaine. Not when I’m not enough.”

It twists his heart and his lungs together, a disaster of broken pieces all mixing up.

“I know, I know and - fuck, Kurt, everything I’m telling you I’m trying to learn for myself. I wish I knew better but I don’t, but I do know - I do know that you can’t live the rest of your life like this.”

You can’t live down here.

Kurt touches his arm, silences the race of his words and the mess in his heart.

“You can’t either.”

“I know, and I’m - I’m tired of it, aren’t you?” As tired as he, as slow as his mind can be, he knows this. He’s been thinking of all the right words and what he really means and not being enough is something he knows all too fucking well, so he knows just what to say. “I’m tired of other people telling me I can’t do anything when they don’t know what I need. _I_ know what I need so - so how come I’m not listening to myself, you know?”

Nobody else is ever going to try for him and nobody else is ever going to need this for him so he can’t listen to anybody else he can’t -

Can’t fall off track here, he has to say this.

He needs this so fucking bad.

“So it's like you said."

You have to believe in yourself the way you have to breathe for yourself.

It feels like he’s still under water, that horrible feeling where you can’t breathe and you want to breathe but you can’t get up to the surface fast enough.

Kurt swipes his thumb across the skin of Blaine’s arm, the slightest touch, nothing else moving. “What did I say?”

He keeps trying.

“I got it in my head that we wouldn’t make it, because I’m like - a bad person, and I wouldn’t ever be good enough for you, that I’d just find a way to mess us up . . . but love and all that, it doesn’t fall apart if it’s real, because if it’s real then you never stop trying to keep it together.” You can wear a ring but you can take off a ring. You spend your whole life making sure the meaning and the vows stay true instead. “Right?”

And the rest of a life is a long, long time but when you’re this in love and this hopeful and when you need it this much -

Kurt tilts his head to the side and stares at Blaine, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “You really thought that? That we wouldn't - make it?"

“I did, but -” He has to close his eyes when he takes his next breath, because Kurt’s so beautiful and Kurt’s listening and finally, finally _looking_ , and he can’t mess this up. He takes the ring out of his pocket, keeps it safe and hidden in his hand. “Just listen? I’ll try to make sense.”

Then it’s not safe and hidden, his hand uncurling, showing Kurt the ring, so simple and unshining in the dark of the car.

It feels like he’s holding his beating heart, that’s how exposed he is.

He hears Kurt gasp, the sharp intake of his breath, feels his eyes right where the ring is and feels Kurt burn right through him.

“Blaine, that’s -”

But if he can manage this, if this dream can come somewhere close to true, then he can manage and do anything.

“Look Kurt, I’m not saying we’re gonna get married, that’s not what this is, because that would be insane, and we don’t know what’s gonna happen. We don’t know if we end up together. You might be gone and I - I might always be right here, and you might meet somebody good and I might never be good enough. We don’t know.”

The ring feels heavier now than it ever has before, but he keeps holding it, keeps breathing.

“But I don’t really need to know any of that to know that I love you. I don’t care what anyone else says. I care about what I’m saying, because I’m saying it to you.”

Even if it’s not guaranteed, even if it’s the craziest dream, try and try and try _I’ll try_ because you’re what I need.

“And you can’t care either, Kurt.”

Kurt’s choking back tears, Blaine can hear it in the way he breathes, the way his mouth stays open and no words come out.

Except for his name.

“ _Blaine_.”

He has to smile, mostly to himself, suddenly feeling shy, but not at all unsure.

“I can’t make you go anywhere or do anything that you don’t think you can, even if I really think you can. You need to think it for yourself. So this is what I’m doing, because I never thought this was possible, and it might not be, but I don’t even care. I’m doing it anyways, because that’s how much I believe it now.”

His mind is racing, his heart miles ahead, his entire body shaking as he fumbles for Kurt’s hand, his right hand. Kurt easily gives it up for Blaine to take, sitting there just barely almost crying, breath coming out raspy.

It’s never been so scary to hold Kurt’s hand before. Just like every other time, he thinks of all the moments they have ahead of them where they might have to let go, but this is different.

He always finds a way to break things, but now he makes himself strong enough to hold Kurt’s hand up, twisting and sliding the ring down onto his index finger.

Looking at it, feeling it out of his fingers and around Kurt’s, he realizes then what the ring really means.

“So even if we never make it, at least we can say we tried.”

Then he feels weightless and void, all his words gone, his heart in Kurt’s hand.

Once the rushing in his brain settles, he can hear how heavy and loud Kurt’s breathing, his eyes switching from Blaine to the ring. “Blaine . . .”

They both look down at it, just a little band of silver, and Blaine knows, realistically, that it doesn’t look that different, but it does.

Sort of.

“It’s um, kinda dumb I guess,” he mumbles, more nervous now, everything he is right in that sliver of silver on Kurt’s finger, waiting for Kurt to give something back, to say something, anything.

Kurt finally starts to breathe evenly, staring at his hand like the rest of the world doesn’t exist and he can only look at the ring.

And then he takes it off.

For somebody who’s so used to falling and failure, the drop Blaine feels then nearly kills him, makes him feel like he’s been shot clean through his heart. He pulls his body back, his breathing going weird, eyes frantically searching Kurt’s face, and he’d cry if he could get his mind to think anything besides _what how why no -_

Kurt remains silent, focused, and without ever looking at Blaine, he lifts his left hand up instead, and slides the ring down onto his ring finger.

It fits.

More sure and certain than he’s sounded in weeks, Kurt says, “There.”

He wasn’t really asking a question, and yet that one word feels like an answer.

_Then_ it looks so entirely different, and so entirely right, and he wants to yell out, not in anger, but amazement.

That something so strange -

Could find such perfect placement.

His heart in Kurt’s hand and Kurt’s heart in his, whatever they are, whatever this is, it only feels right when Kurt leans in and holds Blaine’s face, the ring pressing cool against his skin as he kisses him. It’s different now, less fragile and more permanent, can kiss as hard as he wants for as long as he wants, because he’s not gonna break anything anymore, and Kurt finally sees.

More words form in his mind, but he doesn’t need to say them out loud, he only needs to think them. Took him awhile, but now he gets it, now he knows.

It’s dreaming and it’s doing.

That’s what trying really means.

-

There are so many words he doesn’t know, because he’s never needed to know them.

There are so many things he can’t say, because he’s never needed to say them.

There are so many questions he doesn’t have the answer to, because he’s never needed to answer them.

When Burt sees the ring on Kurt’s hand - which he notices right away, because there’s never been anything there before - he looks at Blaine with a glare so sharp Blaine thinks he might need stitches from it. Then his look changes from angry to expectant, waiting for an explanation, but Blaine can’t give one, because he doesn’t have one for Burt. It only makes sense to them.

When his mom asks him how it all went, she looks terrified, and Blaine can’t blame her because she knows more than anyone that promises are dangerous, especially when you make them so young, but he can only shrug, because he’s not like her. He’s just him, and miraculously that’s enough.

And when he checks his phone and sees he has _at least_ ten missed calls and two dozen texts from Rachel Berry, he already knows exactly what she wants, but he can’t answer her.

Because he doesn’t actually know.

Engaged?

No . . . because being engaged means you’re going to get married, and as much as he’d like that, he doesn’t need it. Being together isn’t as easy as saying they’re going to be together. Exchanging vows and signing a certificate and sharing a last name doesn’t guarantee they’re going to last forever. All he needs is Kurt’s hand, and he has it.

But if Kurt wants to call him his fiancé . . . then he won’t argue with that.

Nothing else changes right away, because change doesn’t happen overnight.

Good things never really do.

Sometimes you’re lucky, and you turn around and you see everything you’ve never seen before, and you can’t ever unsee it.

Sometimes you have to work for it, if you really want to hold onto that everything for as long as you can, for as long as forever.

Kurt has so many questions that he can’t answer, as bad as he wants to help, as bad as he wants to try and figure it out. _Where will I live_ and _what will I do_ and _can I really do it?_

It takes a couple of days, then a few more days, then a week, maybe two, but word by word Kurt starts answering those questions on his own.

Because after trying to solve all his problems and find all his answers, it sounds like Kurt’s actually asking himself when he asks Blaine, “What if this is all just some tragic mistake?”

And Blaine can only really answer like he’s answering himself. “Could be,” he says, because it’s the truth. “But what if it isn’t?”

He almost didn’t know. He almost let this all go. He knows how hard this is. He knows what it's like to need unreachable dreams, but looking down at Kurt’s hands, his ring, he thinks that maybe there's no such thing.

And then one day, after many one days, after questions without answers and after too many reasons to stay, Kurt comes up with a reason to go, and books his flight.

All without ever asking anybody else, all for himself.

There's nothing left for Blaine to say, but he hopes it makes Kurt think.

When you really believe in it for yourself, it could never be a mistake.

-

There’s one question he can answer, however.

All the shelves are empty again, by choice and not force, Kurt’s room packed up and ready to go wherever he goes. Blaine tries to help him pack his suitcase, folding his shirts for him, even though he can’t really call it helping when Kurt refolds everything after.

They work together, Kurt taking another shirt from him, adjusting the folds until it’s perfect, settling it into his suitcase alongside everything else, and without ever looking up at Blaine he asks, “How do you feel about a spring wedding?”

It’s not a question he’s ever been asked, so it’s not something he really knows how to answer. “Uh, I don’t know.”

Kurt looks up then, narrows his eyes, as if making careful calculations somewhere in his mind. “Fall tones would suit you better, but I’m not sure if I care all that much about November weather in New York.”

He laughs and nods along, feels his heart skip a few beats, not out of fear, but excitement.

“Spring works.”

Kurt hums triumphantly, then goes back to packing, not at all looking like he’s just asked the world’s most terrifying question.

He never thought about it before, but he is now, handing Kurt another haphazardly folded shirt. There’s going to be miles and miles between them, months and months, eight million people and eight million more chances, and when you’ve never been in love before, never had anyone love you before, he understands that must be scary for Kurt.

So asking and answering all these questions isn’t the scary part. It’s just something to believe in.

They work together in near silence, Kurt happily singing nonsensical sounds, until he abruptly stops, freezes, the only part of him moving his eyes, locking onto Blaine’s.

“Will you finally sing with me then?”

This question knocks him off balance, makes his face flood with heat, makes his smile come out shy, nervous, even though he knows the answer.

“I will sing any song you want me to,” he says, and he means it.

The final tick of fear fades from Kurt’s eyes, and Blaine thinks about why it was there in the first place.

There will be so many miles and moments and people between us, but if you think for a second that I’m not with you, just remember that you’re always with me, so where else would I be?

Kurt looks down at his hands, at his ring, and his smile shifts into something secret, something knowing.

“Sounds like a plan.”

-

He thought it would be easier, letting go.

Because they wouldn’t actually be letting go, not really, not permanently.

It’s still not easy. It’s actually pretty fucking hard.

He wants to spend every single second that he can looking at Kurt, but he can’t, because then he just wants to cry and he’s not going to cry in front of Kurt’s dad of all people, so he looks out the window instead.

He feels like he should say something important, something to tell Kurt how much he loves him and that it’s all gonna be alright and that he’s so thankful.

In a way Kurt’s given him what he’s always wanted, what he’s always needed - another chance. With his ring on Kurt’s finger and all his words said, he doesn’t doubt for a second that he can do it, whatever it is he’s gonna do, however long it takes.

The effort of trying does not have a time limit.

So that’s what he tells himself when they get to the airport, and he tells himself that when Kurt checks into his flight, and when Kurt takes his hand one final time he says it like a prayer, like a chant, because every second that goes by is a second closer to letting go and he will but he _can't_.

In the midst of chaos and people and loud overhead announcements, Kurt stops still and stares straight ahead at the line for security, gripping Blaine’s hand tightly in a way that feels instinctive.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he says, unblinking and terrified. “Who does this? Who just goes to New York City without a plan or a job or a place to live? I’m more likely to end up on the streets selling all my designer vests just to get by than I am to end up on Broadway.”

Blaine takes both of Kurt’s hands, keeping him contained, and pulls him closer and forward to face him. “Kurt, it’s alright,” he says roughly, forcing his voice out deeper to stop from breaking, because he’s not gonna break anymore. “All you have to do is get there, and it’ll play out the way it’s supposed to. You know that place is just waiting for someone like you.”

Kurt chokes out a mix of a laugh and a sob, eyes wet and red but not at all scared anymore. “And you.”

Nose scrunching up, mouth tugging to the side, he shrugs and sighs, “Yeah, yeah, just might take a while.”

Kurt sniffles, clears his throat and swings their joined hands. “I’ll be waiting too.”

There’s suddenly too much distance between them and Blaine needs to be closer, letting go of Kurt’s hands so he can launch himself forward and pull Kurt in, arms under his, fitting him perfectly against his body and keeping him there.

“Then I guess I gotta make it.”

Still stuck together and unwilling to part, Kurt only moves to reach up, finding one of Blaine’s curls and twisting it around his finger, like they’re back in his bedroom, all alone with the door shut, and not in the middle of a crowded airport. He stays like that for as long as he can.

Then they don’t really have a choice, because Kurt really needs to go, and Blaine really needs him to.

So quiet that it almost gets lost in the sounds of the rest of the world, Kurt stays around him long enough to say, “Thank you.”

He didn’t really do anything, so he almost shrugs it off, pushes it away, but as he watches Kurt say goodbye to his dad, as he watches him pick up his carry-on and find his boarding pass, he remembers that this is Kurt’s escape.

How could he ever be bad when he really did help play a part in it?

Even with Kurt’s hand out of his, it still feels like he’s holding it, so he reminds himself that this really isn’t letting go.

Kurt looks at them both one last time and waves, the ring shining bright on his finger (or maybe Blaine’s the only one that can see just how bright it is), then turns around to walk away.

It’s then the countdown starts, loud in Blaine’s mind, second after second passing by.

Not a countdown to the end, no, because that’s not what this is.

A countdown to the beginning.

Even though he’s a nothing, and Kurt’s a something.

Somehow they’re _everything_ together.

How could he ever need anything else?

**Author's Note:**

> So a few months ago I thought my writing dream was dead and Kurt and Blaine were gone from my head. Apparently not. Thank you so much for reading and hopefully enjoying this story. I'm more inspired now than ever before to keep writing, however long it takes.
> 
> [Here](http://holdingdaylight.tumblr.com/post/147054474627/what-i-need-verse-everything-summary-thats) now on tumblr too! I worked my butt off for 4 months on this, and any support by spreading the word would just mean everything ♥
> 
> (Also if you can guess which scene was the hardest one to write I will bake you a cake)


End file.
